


Atlas of Surgical Operations

by arainymonday



Series: Gray's Anatomy [6]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Grey's Anatomy-esque, M/M, Medical Trauma, Past Child Abuse, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arainymonday/pseuds/arainymonday
Summary: Dr. Leonard Snart is the new Chief of Surgery at Central City General Hospital. When he signed up for the job, he didn't expect a micromanaging board of directors, a meddlesome secretary, or an intern cabal. He didn't expect a timeship from another Earth crashing in the middle of his city, finding a spy among his doctors, or learning the identity of the Man in Yellow either.





	

It’s good to be Chief. Sometimes. This is not one of those times.

The ER is overflowing with traumas. Literally overflowing. They ran out of beds so long ago interns are performing bedside surgeries in ambulances. Len closed the ER to new traumas two hours ago, but so did Keystone, and with no other option but to watch burn and crush victims die on their watch, EMTs brought them to the hospital anyway.

Worse than the trauma more reminiscent of a war zone than Middle America is the swarming press with their klieg lights and camera flashes and demands for a press conference that is keeping Len from helping. Len could be in the ER right now, patching up patients bedside with his doctors. Instead, he’s in the restroom off his office being told by the hospital’s publicist that he should wear a blue tie to bring out his eyes. His fury is icy and the publicist quickly walks back her shallow concerns with a fumbled apology.

“Leonard.” He glances over to find Harrison in the doorway. He’s wearing a suit beneath his crisp white lab coat. “Sara ordered all psych attendings into the ER.”

Len curses under his breath. If they’re asking psychiatrists to triage, or worse, actually operate, they’re so far beyond capacity they might as well authorize scrub nurses to perform surgery. There are going to be mass casualties. _Fuck._

“What the fuck happened?” Len demands, for at least the twentieth time since the news broke about some kind of explosion in Leawood. “Was it a metahuman? A terrorist?”

Harrison shakes his head. “Still no word. Leonard, we are both needed where we can do the most good. But it’s your call, Chief.”

Len doesn’t hesitate to accept the offer. “Find a tie for Dr. Wells,” he tells the publicist. She balks. The Chief is supposed to address the press and Harrison isn’t the Chief anymore. Len doesn’t care. He races out of the office and down to the ER.

It’s worse than a madhouse. It’s absolute chaos and even those who thrive in the chaos of trauma surgery are overwhelmed. He sees Sara’s blonde head between the crush of bodies running from the direction of the medicine closet, supply room, and blood bank out to the ambulance bay. He jumps out of the way of a gurney careening into the elevator. Iris is riding the gurney. She’s covered in blood and it looks like she’s holding together the man’s chest through sheer force of will. He almost tells her not to waste her time, but curbs the instinct. If Iris didn’t think she could remove the shrapnel and close the wound, she wouldn’t be taking up the valuable resource of an OR right now.

“Sara,” Len calls.

She doesn’t look up from the patient’s heart monitor when she acknowledges him. “Chief.” To a nurse she says, “Charge again.”

“What’s our situation?” Len asks.

“Fucked,” she says, without a hint of sarcasm.

The line on the monitor doesn’t jump. The beeping only stops when Sara turns off the monitor.

“Time of death, 19:27.”

She strips off her gloves and turns to Len. She looks pinched and deadly serious. “We’re out of epinephrine. Low on morphine. A nurse just came to tell me they need more pain meds in the burn unit and we have nothing to give them. The supply room looks like it’s been looted. You seriously have to close the ER, Len.”

“I did. But Keystone is overwhelmed too.”

“We are not overwhelmed,” Sara argues. “We are actively killing these patients by keeping them here. I know the next nearest trauma center is forty-five minutes from here, but you have to turn the ambulances away.”

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant.” Len grabs a passing nursing. She looks startled by the power of his grip and he loosens his hold. “Page Dr. Allen - Barry Allen - to the south stairwell. Every thirty seconds until he acknowledges. Go! Now!”

Len gets as far as the stairwell door, then the next thing he knows, he’s standing on the empty helipad on the hospital roof. The last helicopter arrived thirty minutes ago. There will be no more tonight. Lifelined patients are too critical to wait until a nurse can triage. The pilots had started diverting to Metropolis a while ago. By helicopter, central Kansas isn’t too far away. By ambulance, it most definitely is for most of these patients.

“That was fast. Even for you.”

“I’m properly motivated.”

Barry looks as wild-eyed and shaky as all the doctors working in the ER today. As terrifying as it is for the people of Central City to watch newscasts on their televisions telling them there is no word yet on what caused the massive explosion that is overwhelming hospitals in two cities, it’s even more terrifying for doctors to not know what they’re dealing with. Are there accelerants on their patients’ clothing? Biological agents in their lungs? Radioactive elements beneath their skin?

Len had worked the ER the night the STAR Labs particle accelerator exploded. It had not been as terrifying as this. No one knew what dark matter energy would do to their patients, but they knew it was dark matter energy. Scientific experts theorized, made statements, gave the doctors some shreds of information to work with. No one is saying anything now, except for Harrison at a press conference, and he’s feeding the same lines as always.

 _We’re doing all we can to manage the situation. We are treating the most critical patients first._ Empty words that the public wants to accept as comfort, so they will.

“I’m closing the ER and sending all patients who haven’t seen a doctor yet to Metropolis.”

“That’s so far,” Barry says, but he’s not arguing. He’s resigned. “Okay. What do you want me to do? Figure out who goes first?”

“No. I want you to run.”

Len doesn’t smile. Barry doesn’t smile. There is nothing triumphant, nothing fun in the request. Only dread and sorrow and urgency.

Len finds himself back in the frenzy of the ER and feels a whoosh of air on his face. Barry will be assessing the ambulance bay in milliseconds, determining which patients can move versus which might have spinal injuries and have to stay here, regardless of whether they have the resources left to treat them or not. He shakes off the momentary disorientation and launches himself into action. The nearest bed contains a skinny, red-haired man who is fighting against his restraints as Wally - his EMT gear badly burned and covered in soot - and a nurse try to examine his pupils.

“I found him at the scene,” Wally says. Len takes over the examination by shining his penlight into the patient’s eyes. Both pupils are reactive. “He’s been uncooperative the whole time so I sedated him to get him to the hospital. He just woke up. He has a broken tibia.”

“Yes, I do!” The man yells at Wally. “My tibia being in my leg and nowhere near my eyes, so please remove that light from my face, Mr. Snart.”

Len stands back and clicks off his penlight. “Dr. Snart. Do I know you?”

“Probably not, but I know you very well.”

Creepy patients in the ER are not unusual and Len has bigger things to worry about. A broken tibia will hurt like hell without pain meds, but it can wait. Provided they can keep the patient still.

“Give him more sedative,” he tells the nurse.

“I don’t think the police want us to do that,” Wally says. “They want to question him. He says he saw the explosion, but -”

“Not explosion,” the patient says. He sounds remarkably calm considering there’s a bone protruding out of his leg. “Impact.” He sits up as far as his restraints will allow. “Mr. Snart, you must see me released from this hospital and returned to the _Waverider_ so Gideon can patch up my leg and I can repair my ship.”

“Yeah,” Wally says slowly. “That’s the thing. He says he saw the _impact_ from inside his _spaceship_ when it crash landed on, quote, _this_ Earth.”

“Timeship,” the patient says sharply. “Technically, the _Waverider_ can also go into space, but it is, first and foremost, a timeship. And I am a Time Master. My name is Captain Rip Hunter. Does this ring any bells, Mr. S -”

“Doctor,” Len says.

“Yes, okay. Dr. Snart. You’re the first of my crew -” The patient makes a frustrated noise. “But you’re not part of my crew, are you? You’re Leonard Snart number whatever from this hellscape Earth I’ve fallen into. How is that even possible?” The last part is directed at himself and the ceiling, not Len.

“To be fair, it wasn’t a hellscape until you crashed your ship into it.” He says to the nurse, “Sedate him. And call psych.”

o o o

Len is buried in paperwork. He’s always buried in paperwork these days, but nothing quite like after the disaster that shut down the ER. The Board wants a statement on why he didn’t close the ER to new traumas sooner. Why he didn’t enforce the closure. How they could run out of meds and supplies. Why Harrison addressed the press. Who is this mysterious Flash who helped transport patients to Metropolis.

“You look frustrated, Chief Snart,” Barry says, appearing in his office without knocking.

He’s the only person with that privilege at CCGH and he uses it often. Len is always happy to see Barry, but even happier today because it gives him an excuse to not do paperwork. He sits back in his office chair and eyes his husband. His hair is windswept, scrubs rumbled from a long day in the peds ward, wedding band on his left hand since he’s not in surgery at the moment. It brings a smile to Len’s lips.

“Less so now that you’re here.”

“Is the Board micromanaging you again, Chief Snart?”

Barry picks his way across the room, around chairs and filing cabinets. He does so at normal speed, and there’s a swagger in his step and glint in his eye that gets Len interested. He shifts a little in his chair and Barry’s grin is positively wicked.

“Yes.”

“It’s making you tense, Chief Snart.”

Barry’s fingers are ghosts on his shoulder as he circles around behind Len. The fingers press more firmly as Barry slides them down over Len’s chest and torso. Len shifts again, spreading his legs to give Barry access to his hardening cock and moans low in his throat as Barry’s teeth nip at his ear.

“Let’s see what I can do about that, Chief Snart.”

He probably should stop this. His office has glass walls - half frosted glass so he has privacy while looking at patient and personnel files at his desk, but glass all the same - and anyone could knock and enter at any moment, especially surgeons with a bone to pick, and they’re all so uptight it happens regularly. But Barry comes around his chair, drops to his knees, licks his lips while he unzips Len’s pants and Len is done trying to be rational. He hopes Barry locked the door when he came in and enjoys the warmth and suction and skill of Barry’s mouth around him.

“I have surgery,” Barry says after.

“You’ll have to change your scrubs,” Len replies because he’s not letting Barry out of his office that soon.

He lifts Barry onto his paper-strewn desk and smirks at the gasp that brings from Barry, holds his hips up as he shimmies out of his scrub pants, and jerks him off at just the right speed to make Barry whine and plead with him.

“Faster, Chief Snart,” Barry pants.

Len tries to say something about being Chief and making the rules, but he’s a slave to Barry’s whims and obliges. The way Barry slumps onto him, breathing hard into his neck and humming in the back of his throat after his release drives Len just as wild as Barry’s mouth around him.

“God, I love you,” Len murmurs into his hair.

He feels Barry’s grin against the skin of his neck. “I love you too, Chief Snart.”

Len kisses him breathless and makes him very late for his surgery.

o o o

Surgeons storming into his office without an appointment is becoming an unfortunate habit that Len needs to curb. He has an administrative assistant for the express purpose of scheduling appointments and being a gatekeeper of his time. But when he looks up from a grant proposal - surprisingly not an insipid one - from Ray, it’s Lisa who has intruded on his work so his anger dissipates. Her anger is only ramping up, though.

“This is bullshit, Lenny!” she rages. “My resident is getting applause in the OR. My resident! I’m supposed to be the one getting applause!”

The resident in question is hovering in the doorway trying not to look guilty. Len turns his attention away from Jax and back to Lisa. He’s well aware of the source of her frustration. She’s been complaining about it for two months now. But it was her choice, and she’ll remember in five minutes that it is a good choice. She gestures at her ever-growing baby bump - in all of it’s eighth month glory now - wildly, emphasizing its fault in her current turmoil.

“I can’t set anything but a finger. Today, Jax got to set a femur. A femur, Lenny! Do you know how rare a femur break is? I’m an orthopedic surgeon who can’t fix broken legs!”

Lisa’s lower lips wobbles. The pregnancy hormones are a rollercoaster he still hasn’t adjusted to seeing his little sister ride. She’s normally so even-keeled, even more than himself. She’s said herself that she’d rather have the morning sickness, but she doesn’t have any at all. She has mood swings instead, which just makes the universe seem cruel.

“Lisa,” he says softly, and gets up from behind his desk. “Why don’t you sit for a minute? Your feet must be killing you.”

“Y-Yes,” she sobs. “I used to be able to stand up for twelve hour surgeries and now my feet kill me after an hour.”

He guides her onto the sofa and mouths to Jax, “Get Cisco. Now.” Jax doesn’t hesitate. He’s off like a bolt to search the hospital.

“Look, this won’t last forever,” Len says.

Lisa’s head whips up and her expression has switched from weepy back to enraged. “I have a new nickname for you, Lenny. _Captain Obvious_ .” He huffs at her, but she barrels on. “Everyone, _especially a doctor_ , knows that pregnancy doesn’t last forever. Is that seriously the best you have? Because if it is, it’s a miracle Barry isn’t driven insane by the inanity.”

Len stares at her levelly. “That was uncalled for.”

She sniffles. He going to get emotional whiplash if this continues.

“Sorry,” she says in a small voice. “I’m just ... It’s really upsetting to stand back in your own OR and watch a resident do a rockstar move without you.”

“This is a teaching hospital. We turn surgeries over to residents all the time. It’s a victory if they’re excellent.”

“There’s a difference between asking a resident to take over and not being able to do the surgery yourself. I can’t set broken legs. It’s not that I don’t want to. I can’t.” He knows by the way she’s contemplating her twisting fingers that she’s not done speaking, so he stays quiet. “While I was standing there, thinking about not being able to set the femur, I started thinking about what else I can’t do.”

“What can’t you do, Lise?”

She draws in a deep breath through her nose. Her eyes are sad when she looks up at him. “What if I can’t be a good mom, Lenny?” Her voice is a whisper, like she’s afraid to hear her own thoughts spoken. “I’ve never had a mom. I love Clarissa, don’t get me wrong. But there’s a reason we call her ‘Clarissa’ and not ‘mom’.”

Len nods slowly. That’s true, by no one’s fault. As much as he loves Clarissa, she came into his life at a time when he needed a mentor, not yet another parental figure who could disappoint him, and that’s what she had become to him. Lisa hadn’t spent much time with Clarissa until most of her formative experiences had passed. He doesn’t know who took Lisa to buy her first bra or box of tampons. Probably she went alone. That’s what he would have done. And she didn’t have many options then. As much as he tried to be there for his sister, he had been absent enough to make her as independent as himself.

“How did you teach me to love?” Lisa asks. Len blinks. He shakes his head, baffled by the underlying argument that he did any such thing. “How did you know when to hold me and when to let me cry it out? When to read me a bedtime story and when to sing to me? When to scare bullies shitless and when to let me handle it?”

Len’s mouth moves. It takes him too long to push past the idea that Lisa believes all of his decisions were deliberate choices and not the product of circumstance. Sometimes he couldn’t go to the library because he had bruises that would draw questions so he sang her to sleep. Sometimes he couldn’t hold her when she cried because he needed to step in front of a fist for her first. She’s giving him way too much credit.

“Lisa, your child is going to grow up in such different circumstances than we did. There won’t be any fear or violence in your house. You’re gonna have time to make these choices. And you’re gonna have Cisco to help you make them.” He stumbles over his words for a minute. Lisa watches him expectantly the whole time, like she thinks wisdom will flow from his tongue. “I don’t know, Lisa. You were small and innocent and happiest when I spent time with you, so I did.”

Lisa’s eyes widen. “ _Oh._ ” She runs her fingers over her cheeks, wiping away the tear tracks. “Right.”

Len shakes his head, still thrown by this whole conversation. He doesn’t think he answered her question, but she seems to think he did. He’s going to spend the rest of the day mulling over his words, trying to figure out what she heard that he didn’t know he said.

o o o

“Can you believe this?” Barry says, disgust dripping from his voice as he motions with his morning coffee.

They’ve entered the hospital through the less used clinic entrance rather than the front entrance like every day since Len officially became Chief of Surgery, and therefore, a target for requests, complaints, and general interest. A burst of fragrant April air follows them inside. Like nearly every morning, Henry is standing at the nurses' station going through the clinic’s opening procedures with the Associate CNO, a former scrub nurse who prefers running a nursing department to handing surgeons scalpels these days. Unlike most days, Joe West is there with him. In between confirming surgeon consult schedules and the nurses on schedule, Henry and Joe are planning a game of golf.

“I think it’s nice your dad is making friends.”

As his last act as Chief, Harrison had appointed Henry Attending Internist and Director of the hospital’s walk-in clinic. He’d successfully argued to the Board that an internist should run the clinic and call for consults, saving surgeon hours for the OR. Henry had been reluctant, but with his only other option being leaving Central City, Barry, and the new family he’d found himself with, he’d agreed to give it a try. From what Len can tell, he hasn’t regretted it for a second.

“But why does it have to be with Joe West?” Barry asks. “Why not with Dr. Wells?”

“I think he does get along with Harrison. But Harrison is our friend, Barry. It’s nice for Henry to have his own friend group. And not all friendships are as obvious as you and Cisco,” Len says. He waves to Henry and pushes the elevator call button. “But I can see how Henry and Joe click.”

“Really?” Barry looks affronted. “After everything Joe said about us? You can see how my dad decides to be friends with him?”

“Yes, I can. Joe was the first person outside of our circle of friends to welcome him to the staff.”

“How do you know that?”

“Iris told me. Joe felt bad about treating Henry like a criminal when he was in the hospital and asked if he could make it up by buying him a drink at Saints & Sinners.”

“Why is Iris telling you stuff like this and not me?”

“I don’t know, Barry. Maybe you should have lunch with her more often than I do and ask.”

“You have lunch with Iris?”

Len stares at Barry. “As Chief of Surgery, I shouldn’t know that one of my fellows is this unobservant. But as your husband, I’m not surprised you didn’t know that.” He kisses Barry’s cheek as he steps off the elevator. “I have a Board meeting late tonight. Don’t wait for me.”

“Okay, but don’t forget to drop the lease renewal in the office mailbox tonight. It’s in your car.”

“Putting it in my phone,” Len calls as the elevator doors slide closed. “And don’t eat all the chicken tonight. I want another piece.”

Barry starts to protest that there are only three pieces of the cranberry-orange glazed chicken that Len made last night left and if he only eats two pieces, he’ll have to cook after work to fill himself up, but Len has cleverly timed his parting words with the closing doors and he has plausible deniability that he did not hear that part, and is therefore within his rights to expect a piece of chicken for himself.

He has no idea when his life became so domestic.

o o o

Len doesn’t have a lot of time with patients now that he’s the Chief. It’s the part of the job that he hates most. He can handle reading over repetitive letters of recommendation for new interns and a micromanaging Board and squabbling attendings and jealousy from the applicants he beat out for Chief of Surgery. (Dr. Singh from surgical oncology being the most obvious with his grudge, but Len doesn’t care if the man thinks a peds surgeon is too soft for the job because he knows that there’s nothing soft about peds.) What he cannot handle is not seeing his patients, so he delegates to his department chiefs a little more they expected - why wouldn’t he, though, when his chiefs include Mick, Lisa, Ray, Martin, Sara, and Anna? - to make time for rounds and surgeries.

Hartley is very wisely waiting for Len outside of their patient’s room. Len appreciates the punctuality and the way Hartley never asks him for anything. Coming from money, no doubt he understands the insufferability of people who constantly ask for it. The funding for his joint research with Laurel comes from the NIH. Unwisely, Hartley has brought along his interns. Len hates it when interns come along. He glares at them until they look sufficiently afraid.

“Morning,” Hartley says, pretending not to notice Len’s chilly gaze. No doubt Barry put him up to this forced conditioning of intern presence in the peds ward. Or else Ray has encouraged everyone to welcome interns onto peds cases, which Len grudgingly admits is his right as the new peds chief. “Sounds like a party inside.”

“Pretty sure it is a party,” Ronnie says. He’s technically on time, even if he is a minute later than Len. As an attending, Ronnie thankfully does not have any interns trailing him. “I saw her parents bringing in bags of streamers when I was leaving last night.”

It is, indeed, a party inside. Their patient, Hayley Xin, is turning sixteen today according to the banner and balloons her parents have placed around the room. The only part that doesn’t make Len smile is the birthday cake, a slice of which is on the plate in Hayley’s hand. He glances over at Hartley, who is already tapping away on his tablet to reschedule Hayley’s surgery for tomorrow.

“Happy birthday,” Len says.

“I wasn’t supposed to eat the cake,” Hayley guesses.

“We got your final images back late last night and scheduled your surgery for today,” Hartley says, “but I just rescheduled it for tomorrow. It’s fine. Who wants to present?”

Len stares down the interns, but one of them won’t be quelled. “Hayley Xin, sixteen, presents with progressive hearing loss, dizziness, loss of balance, and tinnitus from a slow growing acoustic neuroma. The treatment plan is to remove the neuroma surgically.”

“The neuroma hasn’t grown much since we first found it,” Ronnie says. “Since it’s slow growing and non-cancerous, the likelihood is good that we can get it all tomorrow.”

“I sense a ‘but’,” Mr. Xin says.

“But,” Ronnie says dutifully, “the tumor is wrapped around the auditory nerve, and that means it’s going to be a long and difficult surgery, and that does increase the potential risks we’ve talked about before.”

Hayley shakes her head. “No, I - No. I just got first chair in band this year. I’m up for a music scholarship from the Rathaway Conservatory. I can’t be deaf, even in just one ear.”

Len glances sidelong at Hartley, but his expression hasn’t changed. Normally, he would let Hartley address this concern, but it’s probably all too close because it’s about deafness and his family has been brought into it.

“That’s an extreme and rare outcome for this surgery,” Len says. “If we find the nerve is damaged, there are options to restore some hearing.”

“I thought Dr. Raymond said deafness from nerve damage is permanent,” Mrs. Xin says.

“Yes,” Len says, “but Dr. Rathaway’s research might change that. He’s about to enter the clinical trial stage.”

“Rathaway,” Hayley says, just now making the connection. “As in ...?”

Hartley’s smile is tight, false, professional. “You would be a candidate for the clinical trial. But like Dr. Snart said, it’s a very rare outcome. I don’t think you need to worry.”

Ronnie says goodbye at the elevator. He has a surgery scheduled that he needs to get to. Len follows Hartley into the stairwell. He’s not surprised that Hartley isn’t headed to another floor, that he only needs some space to fall apart without patients seeing him.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Hartley hisses. He’s leaning on the railing, head bent, breath coming too quickly. “Thanks for the reminder that I’m about to be burned in effigy by the deaf community.”

Len can’t refute that. He’s had plenty of deaf patients whose parents have refused cochlear implants and hearing aids because of their belief that deafness is not a disease and their children don’t need to be fixed. He respects their decision. Just as he respects the decision of parents who do opt for medical intervention. The only decision he doesn’t support is parents who won’t learn sign language to communicate with their children when those options fail, as they do sometimes. Hartley’s research takes a side, and it’s a side that is unpopular with a lot of people.

“It’s important research,” Len says. “It’s not for everyone, but it’s important.”

“The worst part is that I get it,” Hartley says. “I was that kid whose parents thought he needed to be fixed. I get what that feels like. And here I am anyway.”

Len lets the words sit between them for a minute so Hartley knows he recognizes the weight of them. “Sounds like your problem isn’t with the medicine. Sounds like it’s with your parents.”

“The problem is always my parents,” Hartley says ruefully.

“Yeah,” Len says, and he’s not talking about the Rathaways. Hartley seems to understand that because his gaze is sharper, focused on Len like he’s observing a patient and cycling through diagnoses.

“Yeah,” he echoes. “Don’t tell Axel, but ... I don’t think there’s much we can do about that.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” Len promises. “Because I agree.”

Hartley’s grin is sardonic, but on him, it looks almost happy. “I expect protection when the villagers come with torches and pitchforks.”

“You’ll have it,” Len says, without jest. Protecting his own isn’t something he takes lightly.

o o o

“Are you calmed down about your dad yet because I have a question to ask you related to him,” Len asks as he climbs into bed.

Barry is already in bed, laying flat on his back and holding his iPad above his face to watch some Netflix show Len hasn’t had time to learn the name of. If he’s in this position, he’s moved around probably four times already. It must be an addictive show. Barry taps the screen entirely harder than necessary to pause the show.

“I’m not upset about my dad,” Barry snaps.

“Okay, I have my answer.”

Len flips off the bedside lamp and starts to get comfortable, but he’s thwarted by Barry’s scoff.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Len sighs. “Nothing. I’m tired. Can I sleep?”

“You’d probably sleep a lot better if you got whatever’s bothering you off your chest,” Barry grouses, while fitting his earbuds back in and stabbing the iPad screen with his finger again.

Len considers the wisdom of wading into it right now and decides firmly against. He’s exhausted and asking Barry if he’s considered volunteering a few hours in the clinic to work with his dad a little - because the more Len thinks about it, the more he’s convinced Barry’s attitude is jealousy more than anything else - can definitely wait for a time when he’s not tired and Barry isn’t in a terrible mood.

“Goodnight,” Len says, although he’s not sure Barry can hear him over the episode playing on the screen.

He kisses Barry’s cheek and finishes trying to get comfortable. It’s only a couple minutes before the room goes dark, the iPad turned off, and Barry’s arm snakes around his waist. The steady breath at the back of his neck and the warmth of Barry pressed up against him eases the tension out of Len’s muscles. He’s slack in Barry’s arms and hums pleasantly when Barry’s lips press against his bare shoulder.

“Eobard came to visit the Meta Research Lab today,” Barry says.

Oh. That explains his attitude. Sort of. Barry is always on edge after he sees Eobard, though Len doesn’t know why, and he suspects that neither does Barry. He has the same effect on Harrison, though. Cisco is still brainstorming nicknames for Eobard, but they all have to do with creepiness. Everyone is much happier when he sends Bette as his proxy, and normally he does that because of how much more cooperative they are with her, but occasionally he drops by and ruins everyone’s day.

“I’m sorry,” Barry murmurs into his skin.

“I understand,” Len answers. “He probably won’t be back for awhile, right?”

“Yeah, about that. Can I maybe ask a favor of my very sexy, very protective husband who is always so good at making me happy?”

“You want me to ban him from the hospital?”

“Please?”

Len laughs under his breath. “We’ve been over this, Barry.”

“But maybe I could sweeten the deal this time.”

“How so?”

“Maybe I could offer you some blowjobs, Chief Snart?”

Len bites his lip to keep from laughing, but it bleeds through his voice. “You already give me blowjobs.”

“Damn it.”

Len doesn’t want Barry to lose that lightness in his voice, so he shakes off his sleepiness and turns in Barry’s arms and presses him onto his back and kisses at the spot on his neck that makes Barry go weak.

“Although we’re at an impasse on this topic,” Len says between kisses, “I still think blowjobs should remain on the table.”

Barry’s laugh is like music. “Spoken like a true administrator.”

“You started the negotiating.”

“Fine. If that’s how we’re playing this tonight, what can I do to work in some fingering too?”

Len pulls back, and his eyes have adjusted enough that when he gazes down at Barry, he recognizes the familiar smile. “Nice pun.”

Barry’s smile crumbles into false agony. “Ugh. I am so disappointed in myself!”

“No, really. That was subtle. I’m very impressed.”

“Less complimenting me on verbally tripping over a pun. More kissing my neck.”

Len obliges. Anything to keep Barry laughing at the end of a trying day. Even a couple more puns that he pretends to hate, but makes them laugh even after they’ve cleaned up and crawled back into bed and slip toward sleep.

“If I pretend to like your puns, will you ban Eobard from the hospital?”

“You already like my puns.”

“Damn it.”

Len feels affection in every cell in his body, all of it radiating from Barry’s smile pressed into his shoulder. He’s been luckier than he’s had any right to be, to end up this happy and this loved. He falls asleep thinking of ways to discourage Eobard from visiting the hospital without provoking a man who knows Barry’s identity and the circumstances around Henry’s pardon. It’ll be tricky, but he’ll make something work. He took a vow to protect his husband, and that includes protecting his happiness.

o o o

Len waits until everyone on the metahuman research team is scheduled in surgery and it’s Harrison’s day off to case the lab. It’s vital he knows every inch of the lab space if he’s going to formulate a plan to keep Eobard out of it. Mostly likely, it will involve cameras. Cameras no one on the research team can know will be hidden - ethically dubious as that is - because it violates their contract with STAR Labs to withhold any digital or audio materials related to the research.

He double checks that all surgeries are underway and Harrison is not in the building before punching in the access code and entering. So the fact that the research lab is not empty is a surprise to Len. And to Mark Mardon.

Mardon is slammed against a wall before he can fully comprehend that he’s been caught red handed rifling through files on a laptop - Hartley’s according to the hospital property tag - in a restricted research lab that he does not have authorization to enter.

“What the hell are you doing in here, Mardon?” Len snarls.

“Get your hands off -!”

Len presses his forearm harder into Mardon’s windpipe. He chokes, and his hands scramble for purchase on Len’s arms and lab coat, but only end up flailing in the air.

“Don’t - make - me - hurt -”

Len’s laugh is humorless and dark. “You’re not in a position to make threats, Mardon. Now tell me why you’re snooping through this lab. Or you’re fired, effective immediately. And I’m sure STAR Labs will have you prosecuted, or worse, for trying to tamper with or steal their research.”

Belatedly, Len realizes that Mardon’s hands aren’t waving in the air for no purpose. He sees it from the corner of his eye, and he can’t help but turn to look, however bad an idea it is to look away from an opponent. A snowstorm. There’s a miniature snowstorm brewing in Mardon’s palm.

“Thought Captain - Cold might - appreciate -”

Len turns back to Mardon’s face, eyes narrowed and calculating. Len is good at reading people. He has to be, as a doctor and the son of a violent man. So he knows that Mardon is serious when he says he doesn’t want to hurt Len. There’s something about him that’s almost relieved, but also something steely and dangerous, and Len knows enough about metahuman powers from living with Barry and enough about Mark Mardon to recognize he’s walking a tightrope here. And he has to keep the upper hand, so his steps need to be slow and precise.

He releases his hold on Mardon. The snowstorm in his palm dissipates. One safe step.

“What are you doing here, Mark?” Len asks again. “You want the research? Or you want on the team?”

Mardon’s shoulders relax a fraction. The benefit of the doubt is appreciated. Two safe steps.

“I’m here to make sure Wells turned over all the research.”

Len takes a moment to process that. “You work for STAR Labs.”

Mardon’s brow furrows. He crosses his arms. He’s not happy about being a spy, then. Good thing Len didn’t call him one. Three safe steps.

“Why would a metahuman work for STAR Labs? We all know that metas who go in don’t come back out.”

“Yeah,” Mardon says. “And my brother is in there.”

Len cringes. He knows Clyde Mardon. He used to be an EMT at the hospital until one day he vanished. Everyone assumed he’d changed jobs because no one suspects their adult friend is abducted for human experimentation.

He appreciates that Mark doesn’t try to drive home the point by bringing up Lisa. Or Barry, who is a metahuman and almost ended up in STAR Labs. He’s still judging his words when Mark starts talking, spilling the whole story Len doesn’t know how to get out of him yet.

“I wouldn’t have done it for any other reason. I don’t get along with many people here, but I wouldn’t steal their research if ...” Mark looks away, agitated, and picks up his story in a different place. “One day, Clyde doesn’t show up to work. I think maybe he’s sick or on a bender or something. I mean, you know Clyde. But then this ... man comes to my house and says he’s from STAR Labs and he has a job for me or they’ll keep torturing my brother.”

Clyde disappeared long before the research deal with STAR Labs, though. Two years before.

“What job?”

“I’m suppose to gather information - _spy_ \- on Barry Allen.”

Len feels his fury creeping like frost over glass on a winter’s day. But it’s not directed at Mark.

“This past year, though, things have spiraled way out of control. He said I had to create this massive thunderstorm to hide a metahuman’s attack on the hospital. How fucked up was that? And what was I supposed to do? They were going to turn that fucking gorilla loose on Clyde if I didn’t. And creating that storm almost killed me. I actually flatlined after. It was way too much. Then he gives me a _list_ of people I’m supposed spy on. And all I get in return is sixty seconds in his pipeline to make sure my brother is still alive.”

Len doesn’t understand all of that, namely the part about the gorilla, but it’s not the details that are important right now. It’s the fact that Mark is talking, and maybe willing to keep talking. Four safe steps.

“This man ....”

Mark shakes his head. “I don’t know who he is.”

Len thinks he might. “Would you recognize him?”

Mark almost laughs. “Pretty sure I’d recognize a psychopath in yellow leather with glowing red eyes anywhere.”

Len spends the next hour sitting in his office. Just sitting. Not even thinking really. Just sitting. For the first time in his life, he has no fucking clue what to do.

o o o

“So then I did this wicked double jump,” Cisco says.

Len cuts him off before he can continue regaling his audience of one with a play-by-play of last night’s video game marathon. “And you did this all night?”

Cisco takes a sip of his coffee, and Len cringes because he watched his brother-in-law pour in no less than six packets of sugar. “I’m sensing some judgement, Len.”

“ _Some?_ ”

“Look, I’m just trying to get in some quality game time before Baby Ramon arrives, okay? Because after he’s here, it’s all diapers and bottles for me.”

Len hides a smile in the corner of his mouth. For all he pretends to judge Cisco’s apparent immaturity - the candy addiction and video games make it so easy - he’s a good husband to Lisa and will be a great father. More than once, Len has snapped at parents to _pay attention_ while he’s talking about their kid’s diagnosis and treatment. More than once he’s heard muttering about how he’s a Gen X asshole not to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but he’s okay with that. Asshole doctors get results. No one will ever have to snap at Cisco. They’ll have to ask him to move out of the way, and then insist, and then forcibly remove him. He’s that man, that husband, that father. It’s a weight off of Len’s shoulders, really.

“You’re on a rant inside your head, aren’t you?” Cisco says. “You get this like little furrow ....” He gestures to a very specific spot on his own forehead.

“How observant of you, Cisco.”

“Yeah, I -”

Cisco freezes, eyes wide, breath held, hand gripping the railing halfway up the staircase. It goes on too long for it to be a sudden revelation that he left the coffee pot on at home or didn’t sign discharge papers for a patient. Len races back down the five stairs that separate them, but Cisco has already snapped out of it.

“Wha -”

“You had an absence seizure.” Len shines his penlight into Cisco’s eyes, presses two fingers to his neck to check his pulse. Pupils are dilated, but responsive. Pulse is racing like he’s run a marathon.

“No,” Cisco says. “That wasn’t a seizure.”

“How -”

“Uh, because I’m a neurosurgeon? And unless there’s some massive conspiracy within the epilepsy community, seizures don’t involve full blown visions of your pregnant wife falling down the stairs.”

Len’s own pulse leaps, but he takes a breath and remembers that there are no such things as visions and Lisa is fine. She’s in surgery right now. He’s gotten five texts from her whining about how Jax gets to have all the fun, and she’s a glorified traffic cop now that he’s a senior resident and knows all the routine procedures inside out.

“Less video games, more sleep,” Len says. “Doctor’s order.”

Cisco nods, but he still looks shaky and unsure. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably it. I don’t need a brain scan or anything like that. It’s not like I have an intraventricular tumor causing paranoid hallucinations.” He turns on his heel and heads back down the stairs.

“Cisco?”

“If you need me, I’ll be in imaging.”

Len lets him go without commenting. As Chief, he probably should protest doctors running MRIs on themselves. But as Chief, he also needs to get to his Board meeting so they can, once again, talk to him like he’s a child.

They’re seventeen minutes into the belittling when Len gets a text from Jax.

_Lisa fell on the stairs. She’s okay and the baby is kicking, but she’s in OB getting checked out._

Len is out his chair, out of the conference room, racing up the stairs before he realizes he’s made the decision to leave the meeting. His tablet gives him real time information on all patients in the hospital, including location. It takes fifty-nine seconds to get Lisa’s room. She doesn’t look at all surprised when he barges in without knocking.

“Lenny,” she says, almost chiding. But she holds out a hand for him.

He joins her on the side of the table across from Cisco who is in a scrub cap (so apparently he postponed the MRI for a trauma) and looks even more freaked out than the situation calls for considering the ultrasound shows an active baby and the fetal heartbeat is strong. Except, of course, that he had a vision of it happening before it did.

“Like I told Dr. Snart and Dr. Ramon,” Anna says patiently, “everything is fine. It looks like you might have fallen on your hip, judging from this bruise, and it probably felt like your stomach hit the stairs, but Jax caught you before that happened.”

“Jax gets to set all the femurs,” Cisco tells Lisa. She grins at him fondly, but shakes her head and mouths ‘no.’ “Yes, Lise. All the femurs. All. Of. Them. Forever.”

Len steps out of the room about the time Anna starts wiping off Lisa’s stomach and Lisa is arguing that Cisco needs to get back into surgery immediately and she doesn’t care how much aptitude Jesse has for neurosurgery, she’s a second year resident and needs a fellow to teach her. He leans against the wall and sucks in air and runs a hand over his face.

The door clicks twice, once opening, once closing. Cisco stands there, staring wide-eyed at Len.

“Forget about the MRI,” Len says. “I have a pretty good idea why Caitlin couldn’t find any difference between your DNA and Barry’s and Hartley’s.”

Cisco is already shaking his head. “No. No, no, no. I can’t - No, I’m not a meta. I can’t be. I, I, I’m about to be a dad. That’s all I can handle right now, okay? So I’m not a meta. Because I - I can’t be.” He’s pacing in front of Len, agitation growing by the second. “I mean, I might not even be able to handle being a dad. It’s not like I have a shining example. I know that I don’t get to play video games all the time, but that’s totally not enough knowledge to raise a kid.”

Len waits patiently while Cisco vents all his worries. He takes the time to text Ronnie and ask if he’s free to take over a trauma because Lisa is right and Jesse shouldn’t be alone with a trauma surgery, or any at all because she’s only a second year. Then he texts Sara to tell her the surgical consult schedule is changing and Cisco is off.

“You’ll do fine, Cisco,” Len says, cutting off Cisco’s increasingly frantic worry.

“Do you think?”

“I have no doubt. I get why you do, but I don’t.” He claps Cisco on the shoulder. “Now take the day and make sure my sister is okay. Ronnie is taking your surgeries. Sara knows he’s the consult. Then tomorrow, talk to Caitlin and Harrison.”

He doesn’t know why they’ve both come to him with their parenting worries. All he did was stumble through the situations presented to him, and it’s stressing him out having to admit how much luck was involved in Lisa turning out the way she did. When it’s his turn to be a dad, they’d better give him one hell of a pep talk.

o o o

Henry’s apartment is modest, but brightly lit and homey. It’s exactly what Len would expect from a man incarcerated for twenty years. One whole wall is windows overlooking the waterfront and another is a series of framed photos of Barry - as a baby, as a boy, in a graduation cap and gown, in light blue intern scrubs, dancing with Len at their wedding - and his parents’ absence from the middle years is noticeable. The decor is sparse and serves to highlight that the only part of his life Henry has tried to resurrect is Barry’s presence.

“Dinner smells amazing,” Barry says.

“Crockpot rotisserie chicken. Three of them, so you’ll have plenty to eat,” Henry says.

Barry hugs his dad in greeting, finally, and it’s big, tight, long, a sign of how much they care about each other and all the years they have to make up for Plexiglass separating them. Len is a little more reluctant. Martin being as aloof as Len, he never acclimated to paternal affection the way he did to maternal love. Henry only claps him on the shoulder, leans in just slightly to simulate a hug, and his smile is free of chagrin or concealed hurt, like he believes that they’re building up to casual hugs. Maybe they are.

“It’s good to see you, Len.”

They saw each other last night at the hospital, but he understands what Henry means. There’s a difference when they’re in lab coats. Even between Len and Barry, they’re a white barrier, a reminder that they must wear facades that match their patients’ expectations of their doctors.

Len pours the drinks while Henry removes the chicken from mismatching crockpots. Either he bought three or borrowed two, and Len thinks it was the latter and thinks he knows who he borrowed them from because he’s seen one of those crock pots before at a hospital potluck. He’s going to need more wine.

Dinner is delicious, even if Len isn’t much of a rotisserie chicken kind of guy. Henry is clearly pleased by the compliment of Barry eating a whole chicken and a half on his own, plus the “smashed” red potatoes and green beans with peppers and three-quarters of the chocolate cherry cake definitely not baked from a box.

“Save me a piece,” Len says to Barry. “It’s my favorite.”

“That’s what Martin said,” Henry says. “He’s been giving me recipes left and right since I mentioned how hopeless I’ve become at cooking.”

Barry perks up. Martin’s cooking is a favorite of his, and he’s a Barry-approved friend.

“I’m requesting the chicken next time Dr. Stein and Clarissa have us for dinner,” Barry says.

“Actually, that’s Joe’s recipe,” Henry says. “It’s his go-to, apparently. He could never be sure of his schedule when Iris was young, but didn’t want her babysitters to feed her bologna sandwiches all the time, so he invented crockpot rotisserie chicken.”

Barry looks like he’s sucked on a lemon. “Oh. Joe told you how to make this?”

Len drains his wine glass and goes into the kitchen to refill it.

“Yeah.” Henry studies his son for a moment. “You look a little ... off. Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” Len hears Barry say, and he doesn’t buy the nonchalance for a moment. Henry probably doesn’t either. “Everything’s great. I mean, except that you’re best friends with a man who called me a whore sleeping his way through residency.”

Len drains another glass of wine. Then decides to start cleaning up the kitchen so he can pretend like he’s not hiding from this fight he wants no part of.

“I hardly think that’s what he said.”

“It’s exactly what he implied. And now you’re, like, his biggest fan and talking about what a great dad he was.”

“Is,” Henry says, and his tone is firm. “Joe is a great dad, and I’m sure if you ask Iris, she’ll tell you the same thing.”

Barry doesn’t respond, but Len can hear him shifting. He imagines Barry’s contrite expression and him crossing his arms over his chest. Jesus, Len is going have to hear about this the whole night. He eyes the wine bottle. It’s not empty yet.

“I know that you and Joe have history, and that’s not going to be easy to let go of, but if you gave him a second chance, I think you’d really like him.”

Barry’s laugh is loud, dismissive, angry. “Yeah, I don’t see that happening. I’ll stick to being friends with Dr. Wells and Dr. Stein.”

“And you think I should be friends with them too?” Henry asks, tone remarkably even in the face of a petulant adult son. Barry must nod, because Henry goes on, “Well, I am friends with Harrison and Martin. But I’m also friends with Joe. And, yes, as you said, he is my best friend. Why wouldn’t he be, with all we have in common?”

And that’s Len’s cue to get back into the dining room, because holy shit, Henry just invoked the widower card, and on the off chance Barry’s self-indulgent anger prevents him from getting that, he’s about to turn a spat into a nuclear winter.

“I didn’t invite you over to fight,” Henry says. “I want to share some good news with you.”

“What’s that?” Len asks, regaining his seat.

Fortunately, Barry did realize where Henry was going with that remark and it did the trick of adjusting his attitude so Henry can share his news without it being too tainted by Barry’s mood.

“I’ve been invited by the Keystone Memorial Chief of Surgery to speak to her staff about our clinic and the role of physicians in surgical treatment plans.”

“Henry, that’s great.”

It truly is fantastic that the clinic is getting attention, for Henry and for the hospital. The more patients they see in the clinic, the more potential surgical cases for the hospital. It justifies Harrison’s decision to hire an internist to run the clinic, and specifically Henry, so the Board has no reason to even think the word nepotism anymore, not when Christina McGee wants her surgeons to consider Henry’s opinion.

“It’s just a lecture,” Henry demurs. “It’s hardly a conference presentation or even anything ground-breaking. I’m only suggesting primary care physicians should be more involved in pre- and post-surgical care.”

“That’s more radical than you think,” Len says. “Anymore, the PCP might not even know the patient is having surgery. They refer to a specialist, who refers to a surgeon, who runs fresh labs and tests.”

Len’s philosophy has always been to keep his patients’ pediatricians in the loop, but he had to force that philosophy onto a number of peds surgeons. Now that he’s Chief, he could push it onto a lot more surgeons, and Henry could help with that. But he’ll bring that up when they’re back in lab coats. He’s not inviting Chief duties into his private life anymore than necessary.

“Have you written your speech?” Barry asks.

They move into the living room to sit on the comfortable sofa and armchairs and spend the rest of the evening talking. Len retreats into the kitchen again. At this part, he always feels like he’s intruding, even though Henry and Barry would both be horrified to hear that. For twenty years, they could only have overheard conversations through telephones. Their hunger for privacy is palpable, and while they probably don’t mind Len’s ears listening in, Len minds it a great deal.

When he’s done loading dishes into the dishwasher - something Henry has told him three times he doesn’t need to do, but he’s grateful for the whooshing water drowning out their voices - he peers into the living room and, for the second time that day, loses his nerve to say what needs to be said.

The man who destroyed their lives is in Central City. He’s part of the STAR Labs team. Barry is working with him. For him, even. Henry’s freedom is possible because of the man who put him in prison in the first place. The more he thinks about it, the more it feels like their entire lives are at the whim of the Man in Yellow. How does Len tell them that without destroying their lives all over again?

o o o

Saints & Sinners is full of the lamentable mixture of doctors and patients’ family members that feels like a powder keg. Len makes his way past the high tables and the bar, the pool table and dart boards, and slides into the booth opposite the man he’d arranged to meet in this upscale, but downtrodden bar. There’s a beer waiting for Len that he doesn’t touch. And won’t. Both because he doesn’t drink what he hasn't seen poured and because he doesn’t trust Mark Mardon.

“So you said you wanted to talk,” Mark says.

He glances around, almost nervously, and Len wants to kick him for it. There’s nothing suspicious about them meeting for a drink, except the furtive look in Mark’s eye. He catches sight of Len’s frown and knocks it off, drowning his worries in his beer instead.

“I do,” Len starts slowly. “You told me a lot of things. I don’t know if I should believe them.”

“Are you kidding me?” Mark hisses. “You know I’m not lying. Clyde disappeared. STAR Labs is evil. You knew that before I told you anything.”

“You told me you’ve been spying on my husband. And helped Blackout attack the hospital. I’m sure you can see why I don’t trust you.”

“How about the fact that I didn’t pummel you with hail the size of tennis balls and leave you for dead?”

Len cocks his head to the side. He’s not afraid. He was raised by a monster. Mark Mardon has a long way to go before he’s even a shadow of Lewis Snart. “Are you a murderer, Mark? I thought you were a doctor.”

“Sometimes that’s the same thing.”

“That’s a grim opinion of our failures. But I don’t think so in your case.”

Mark scoffs and sits back in the booth, but his arms are crossed over his chest belying his nonchalance. “So you don’t trust me with the truth? But you do trust me with your life?”

Len’s grin is sly. “I don’t trust you with anything delicate. But you clearly want me to, so how about you prove your story is true and we get over that little obstacle.”

Mark’s foot taps a rhythm almost lost in the din of voices and music and a football game on the TV over the bar. Len feels it up through the soles of his feet more than he hears it. But he knows what it means - that he’s right, that Mark was telling the truth, and that he’s glad he got caught spying so he has a reason to stop. He’s in over his head, that much is clear. So is everyone else who’s in bed with STAR Labs.

“What do you want from me?” Mark asks.

“Tell me about this Man in Yellow. I know something about him. If you know it too, then we’re on the same side.”

Mark blanches, but nods once, tersely. “We are on the same side, Snart. I ... might know someone who can help get the information you want. She works at STAR Labs not entirely by choice.”

“Not entirely?”

“She accepted a job offer as a lab rat without realizing that’s what the position was.”

“Who?”

Mark’s lips curl up for the first time since Len sat down. “Someone you know.”

“ _Who?_ ”

“Boo.”

Len feels like the world is spinning. He might be sick if it doesn’t stop. Shawna Baez. His intern. His failure. She’s been in Central City all this time - trapped in STAR Labs, experimented on, if that’s what Mark is implying - because of Len, because he made a mistake and then a second one, and by the time he realized it, it was too late to fix it.

If their success rests on Shawna, then it’s already a failure. No one repays betrayal with loyalty, not even someone as caring as Shawna.

“I’ll talk to her,” Mark says.

“I won’t hold my breath.”

Mark cocks an eyebrow. “Weren’t you two thick as thieves back in the day before you started giving interns and residents the cold shoulder?” Len stares levelly at Mark, but he only drains his beer and stands up, effectively ending their tet-a-tet. “I’ll let you know if Boo signs up to be one of your rogues.”

o o o

Len, Ronnie, and Hartley are three hours into Hayley Xin’s surgery when Jax bursts into the OR with a scrub mask held over the lower half of his face. His eyes are sparkling, and he’s all but bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“What can we do for you, Jax?” Len asks.

“Lisa sent me to find you. She’s in labor.”

The whole room takes a collective moment to let their attention drift from the patient and to allow smiles to crinkle in the corners of their eyes. Then they turn back to their work and block out the rest of the world. Len’s instinct urges him to drop his surgical instruments and race up to the second floor to be with her, but he doesn’t. She isn’t hurt or in danger or in trouble. This moment to protect and support and love Lisa is for Cisco and Cisco alone.

“Thank you, Jax,” Len says. He puts more pressure on the retractor, gives a short ‘ah’ when he finds the nerve that had been hiding from him behind a muscle flap. “Find me when the baby is born.”

As Lisa’s resident, he’s almost obscenely involved in every part of her life, professional and personal. At least once, Jax has arranged a date night for Lisa and Cisco by running between ORs. He’s the first one outside of the room who will know when the baby is delivered.

“Sure thing,” Jax promises.

“That’s very ... measured of you,” Hartley says. “I think we all expected you to rush out of here.”

“Family bonds only stretch so far,” Len says. He tries not to think about Barry pushing his way into parts of Henry’s life where he doesn’t belong, but he does, and he feels a little guilty about it even if he is right. “Besides, you need me here.”

Neither Ronnie nor Hartley disagree with him, although two surgeons would be enough if this patient wasn’t a teenager. Len is glad for the distraction, even if he is almost superfluous to this surgery. It keeps him from pacing in the maternity ward. And it’s nice to be in a surgery so delicate a dozen people don't dare barge in to make demands of his time and budget.

But he’s also happy to scrub out after the surgery is done and go up to Lisa’s room because Jax texted to say the baby is delivered and Lisa is ready for visitors half an hour ago. The delivery time is suspiciously short, almost like Lisa told no one about being in labor and stayed in surgery until she literally could not stand up anymore.

Len knocks on the door lightly and a second later Cisco is there framed in the jamb with the brightest smile and slightly frantic look in his eyes. He can’t say anything, just gestures wildly for Len to come inside and then points at the bed where Lisa lays with a tiny, sleeping baby in her arms. She has to tear her eyes away from the baby, and her smile is bigger and brighter than Len has ever seen before.

“I forgot to bring flowers,” Len says.

“Who cares about that?” Lisa says. “Come hold your nephew. He’s so perfect, Lenny.”

Len is a pediatric surgeon. He’s held babies, delivered babies, operated on babies. But suddenly he’s nervous and unsure as he takes his nephew from Lisa. The baby is soft and warm in his arms and makes his heart feel the same way. He scrunches up his face in sleep and wiggles around in Len’s arms, and all three of the adults burst into adoring giggles, as if no other baby in the world has done anything as adorable as sleep.

Lisa and Cisco are having some silent conversation that spills over into gestures and meaningful looks while Len falls in love with his nephew.

“Ask us what we named him,” Cisco says, but doesn’t pause to give Len time because he’s too excited about sharing the name. “This little bundle of cuteness is Leonardo Ramon.”

“Leo,” Lisa says quietly, significantly.

Len isn’t too proud to admit there are tears in his eyes.

o o o

Len spends a lot of time camped out in front of the newborn window display over the next couple days. Partly to keep an eye on his nephew. The world can be a cruel place, even for babies, and no one knows that better than a peds surgeon, and it’s good to have family keeping an eye out even in places that are supposed to be safe. And partly because Leo calls to Len like a siren to sailors. He couldn’t stay away if he wanted to.

Sara leans on the glass next to him and holds out the granola bar she offered to bring him from the cafeteria. She peers at Leo over her shoulder, smile growing in a way that means she thinks he’s adorable because he belongs to someone else. There’s a special look reserved for the people who smile at babies because they want one to belong to them. The first is more pure, in a way, an appreciation only. The second is almost haunting. And Len should know. He can see his reflection in the glass.

“Wow, he really is a cute baby,” Sara says. “You know how sometimes you look at a newborn and just think ‘Alien!’? I don’t have that reaction at all when I look at Leo.”

As a pediatric surgeon, yes, Len knows what she’s talking about. But also as a pediatric surgeon, he cannot admit that.

“Handsome babies run the family,” Len says. “He looks like me when I was a baby.”

“Oh, yeah? You looked Latino when you were a baby?”

She thinks his stink eye is hilarious. “Eat your granola bar. You’re going to need the strength. You’ll never believe what Jesse Wells just reported to me. It’s going to require an inquest and a disciplinary hearing and everything.”

Len spends a few more minutes watching Leo kick his little legs and fists before resigning himself to leaving the maternity ward and going back to his office, which he realizes in hindsight is too far away from the baby display window.

When Len isn’t hiding from responsibility in the maternity ward or putting the fear of Captain Cold in the interns - all of whom are on the verge of being fired, depending on the outcome of the disciplinary hearings - he’s at Lisa and Cisco’s house helping set up the nursery, something neither of them had time to do before Leo was born, but now seems important enough to take a few hours off work.

“He’s a cute kid,” Mick says. “Hand me the Allen wrench?” Len passes him what he thinks is a wrench. It’s been a long time since he worked with tools. “But I think Lisa is upset I won’t hold him.”

Len feels offended on behalf of his nephew. “Why won’t you hold him?”

“I’m not so good with babies. Last time I held one, it died.”

“A premie?”

Mick doesn’t look up from the bolt he’s tightening. Len can finally see all the individual pieces of wood coming together to form a crib. “Twenty weeks.”

“Then it wasn’t anything you did, Mick. That kid didn’t have a chance.”

“Still. I’ll hold him when he’s bigger.”

Barry comes over after they’ve finished putting together the crib and changing table. He has three bags of carry out. Caitlin and Eddie are with him, each carrying bags as well, emblazoned with the Babies R Us logo because Lisa skipped a baby shower in favor of more surgeries, so it’s a good thing they have so many good friends who are willing to skip their own surgeries to make sure Leo has diapers and onesies when he comes home from the hospital.

As easy as it is to criticize, it’s also easy for Len to understand. It’s hard to prepare for a baby you’re not sure you can parent the way he deserves. It’s far easier to pretend it’s not happening and handle the crisis later, because as surgeons, they know they’re good at handling a crisis. And Len isn’t one to judge. For all he harps on preparation, just last year he and Barry did something pretty similar with their wedding.

“Baby clothes have to be washed before their worn,” Caitlin says sharply, when it looks like Eddie might take off the tags and put the onesies in the dresser. “Actually, all clothes should be washed before their worn.”

Mick, Barry, and Eddie don’t look convinced, but Len is on Caitlin’s side. Anyone could have bought and returned those clothes, and who knows what the dyes and scratchy fabric might do to delicate newborn skin.

“That goes for crib sheets and all blankets too,” he says. “Laundry room is off the kitchen.”

Barry brings him a take away container with a steak salad and a quarter quesadilla, one of Len’s favorite meals from Saints & Sinners. He eats it at the counter, eyes scanning the room and making a mental to do list. Lisa and Leo are coming home tomorrow. Everything has to be ready before then.

“You’ve been pretty busy the last couple days,” Barry comments. His light tone is forced. “You haven’t been home much.”

“I’ve been with Lisa or helping out here.”

“I’ve missed you.”

Len’s eyes flick up to Barry. He’s upset. And not about a busy couple of days, either. This is the intense kind of upset that he tries to hide because he’s afraid of it.

“Barry?”

“You’re spending time with Lisa. You’re helping get the house ready for Leo. That’s all, right?”

Guilt gnaws at Len. That’s not all. Truthfully, he’s been grateful for a couple days to dote on Lisa and Leo because it means he doesn’t have to think about the Man in Yellow and how to break the news to Barry. He’s been grateful for a couple days away from Barry, and Barry can feel it. _Fuck._

“That’s all,” Len lies. Because what else can he do? Not blurt out the truth when Barry is already feeling vulnerable. “I promise,” he adds, because if anyone ever deserved an extra dose of guilt, it’s him.

o o o

Len means to swallow his guilt and spend more time with Barry to assuage his fears, but somewhere in the last four years, he’s lost his ability to hide behind a facade when he’s around Barry. The easy demeanor he slips into around residents and colleagues he’s not fond of won’t come when he’s home anymore. He knows it’s not working by the long, uneasy looks from Barry and the strained silences over dinner. It’s terrifying to realize how exposed he’s left himself when it’s imperative he hide this for a little while longer - just until he has time to really think it through, to hear from Mark how Shawna can help, if she’ll help at all - for Barry’s own sake, and since he can’t do that - can’t protect Barry from the truth or from himself - it’s just easier to stay away, to spend longer hours at work, and more time at Lisa and Cisco’s.

At least something good comes of it all when he’s with Leo, who is the cutest baby in the world. Mostly, he sleeps when Len holds him, something Lisa says is patently unfair the first couple times it happens, but then sees the advantage of having a quiet baby and a brother who never wants to put him down and indulges in long showers and naps.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Cisco says, collapsing on the couch and slowly propping his feet up on the coffee table. From the surgical board, Len knows he had a marathon of surgeries today as the neuro consult for the ER.

“I’m not giving you a foot massage.”

Cisco’s grin is bright, teasing. “Aw, but Barry says you’re so good at that.”

Lisa looks exhausted when she re-joins them, wet hair hanging over her shoulder, eyes glassy, without a trace of her normally perfect makeup. Cisco’s aching feet are a distant memory as he leaps up and helps her sit gingerly on a cushion. Her shoulders sags in relief when he tucks himself next to her, and she leans her head on his shoulder.

“Thanks for watching him again, Lenny,” she says, her words punctuated by a yawn. “He was fussy all day. Do you think it’s colic? Or maybe -”

“It’s a condition called infancy,” Len says gently. “He’s in perfect health, Lise. I check every day.”

Lisa blinks slowly, eyelids drooping and then snapping open. Cisco brushes a strand of wet hair off her forehead, and the smile Lisa gives him makes Len’s heart stutter. He hasn’t seen that particular smile on her ever before. He knows - has always known - that Lisa and Cisco are in love. They’re not shy about it, even bordering on too publicly affectionate, but they’ve never been ... this. Whatever this is. Len doesn’t have a name for it, doesn’t recognize the emotions behind it. But he has seen that smile every day since he became a peds surgeon. It’s a smile, a look, an emotion reserved for parents, only ever shared with each other when they’re thinking of their children.

It makes him so overwhelmingly happy to see. It feels so right that they can be this happy about being parents when they’re so worried about it too.

And it hurts so deeply it’s a physical ache.

Len averts his gaze, focuses instead on Leo who is awake now, squirming, and kicking his legs, and grinning up at his uncle. He tickles Leo’s tummy and boops his nose and makes the faces that elicits a giggle from his nephew, and when he finally looks up at Lisa and Cisco again, they’re asleep on each other, so he carries Leo around the house, making up a bottle for him, feeding him, getting him ready for bed, reading him a bedtime story even though he’s too young to appreciate anything about it except the comfort of being held and spoken to, tucking him in. Then Len sits next to his crib in the rocking chair, reluctant to leave, let alone wake up Lisa and Cisco so he can go home to Barry’s searching looks.

“You know you have to give Len a baby, right?” Cisco says.

Len blinks his eyes open to find Cisco and Barry standing over the crib where Leo is still sleeping peacefully.

“I’m not sure he wants a baby with me,” Barry answers.

“What? No, hey. Look, everyone says the first year of marriage is the hardest, but speaking from experience, the second is brutal. There’s no more honeymoon high to smooth over your disagreements. You’ve got to think about you - like couple you - and not all the other noise to get through it.”

Barry nods tersely. Len senses he’s about to turn, to glance at Len who he thinks is asleep still. The moment is a choice. Len chooses to close his eyes.

o o o

Len doesn’t want to be Chief today.

First, an estimable member of the Board called an emergency meeting to discuss fundraising instead of putting it on next week’s agenda, and he’d only just refrained from calling the man a series of insults that would have resulted in mandatory anger management, if not dismissal.

Now, he’s sitting in a disciplinary hearing listening to Sara, Jesse, and fifteen interns each explain how a cabal of interns have been operating on each other to log more surgical hours. Len listens in stony silence, expression falling darker and darker as the first intern stumbles over an excuse so full of holes he’s sure all the following interns are going to stumble right into them and be lost forever.

“Stop,” Len says.

The intern cuts her word short, her final plea for leniency an unflattering “muh” sound. It’s almost funny, but mostly it’s despicable. He gestures for Sara to hand him the schedules he’d requested from her. As the attending who received this report, the unfortunate task of running the inquest fell to her. Len scans the surgical and ER schedules.

“You logged twenty-eight hours in the OR and another thirty in the ER last week,” Len says.

“Yes,” the intern squeaks. Len wouldn’t remember her name if it wasn’t right in front of him. Holly Bridges. Holly Bridges is shaking head to toe. His expression must be even more severe than it feels. He’s impressed with himself.

“And you don’t think that’s enough?”

“No, sir. A good doctor needs way more surgical time. I was tired of doing scut -”

“That’s more OR time than I’ve logged this week.”

Holly Bridges looks like she’s about to piss herself. Good.

“Dr. Bridges, you’re no longer an intern at Central City General Hospital. Pack your things and don’t ever step foot in this hospital again. If you ever find yourself bleeding out from a fatal wound, go to Keystone.”

Holly Bridges flees the room. Her sobs are audible through the conference room door. Sara watches him with raised eyebrows.

“You’re going to fire them all?”

“Unless one of them can prove they weren’t involved or they had a gun pointed at their head, yes, I’m going to fire this entire cohort of interns.”

“Wow,” she says, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “And here we all thought baby fever had made Chief Leonard Snart go soft.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me. Mick. A couple other people, but you’d punish them for saying that. You’ll mostly just glare at me and Mick and then forgive us because you are a little bit soft.”

Len doesn’t counter that because he can’t. “Bring in the next intern.”

His day doesn’t get any better. He fires all fifteen interns. Their entire cohort. And he has a mutiny on his hands by the end of the day. The attendings who allow interns on all of their cases want to know how they’re supposed to carry their surgical load without the help. The fellows and residents are living in fear of being relegated to assists, or worse, scut.

“I don’t think your decision was fair,” Ray argues. “They’re interns and need guidance.”

“They’re adults who should know better than to slice open their friends for chuckles. And fair or not, it was my decision to make.”

“Well,” Ray says, not graciously but signalling this conversation is almost over, “I guess you finally get your way. There will be no interns at all on peds this year.”

The only attending who seems to be squarely on Len’s side is Joe, which is a surprise.

“Hey, you and I might disagree on what the rules are supposed to be, but once they’re set, we believe they gotta be followed. I’ll be using a lot more second years on my service.”

“You and everyone else can fight over them,” Len says.

As if this alone wouldn’t make for a terrible day, Len is almost out the door when Mark finds him. He joins Len in the elevator and hits the emergency stop as soon as the doors are closed. Len pivots, turning his back to the security camera and so does Mark.

“Shawna is in. She said if anyone can outsmart the Man in Yellow, it’s you.”

Len’s stomach plummets. Knowing she’d taken the fall for him, that’s something he’s learned to live with. Knowing she still has faith in him, is still loyal to him after he let her down, that’s not so easy to swallow. Last time, he’d cost her her job. This time, it might cost her her life.

o o o

Given his truly awful day, Len thinks his distraction is understandable. Barry doesn’t agree, apparently, because the second Len walks in the door, he’s complaining about losing his interns.

“I know you don’t like interns, but come on, this was excessive. We’re a teaching hospital. We need interns to function.”

Len closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, reminds himself not to take his terrible day out on Barry. Even if that’s what Barry is doing to him. “The decision is made,” he says flatly. “And it was made with good reason.”

All Len wants to do is eat dinner, take a shower, and maybe go see Leo after if it’s not too late.

“They were a really good cohort,” Barry argues. “We were really starting to make it work in peds, you know. Ray and I were finding a nice balance of introducing them to peds while supervising them more than usual.”

Len should let that comment go, knowing that Barry’s picking at him probably has more to do with Joe and Henry golfing this morning than losing the interns, but he can’t.

“Supervising them more than usual?” Len asks acerbically. “Really? You want to claim you’re doing a top notch job supervising interns the year they go Dr. Frankenstein on each other?”

“What? No. That’s not what I said.”

“Then by all means, Barry, clarify what you meant,” Len says. His voice is steadily creeping closer to yelling and he can’t stop it. “Since I haven’t heard enough today about how I’m a failure as Chief, I’ll sit here and listen to your litany of complaints.”

Barry’s eyes are wide and regretful. He would probably try to walk back his words, even apologize, if Len will let him. But there’s no satisfaction in that. He grabs his car keys from the hook by the door.

“Where are you going?” Barry asks. There’s a note of worry in his question.

“I was planning on going to Lisa and Cisco’s later. I think I’ll spend a little more time with them tonight.”

“A little more time,” Barry says. The worry has disappeared. It’s replaced with scorn. “So you’ll be spending all night there instead of just most of the night.”

Barry shakes his head, looks away, and that’s a sign his emotions are running even deeper than Len can see. But the same is true of Len’s emotions. There are things Barry can’t see yet because he doesn’t know to look. Len turns to the door.

“You actually have a husband,” Barry yells. “You do remember that, right?”

“Yes, Barry, I remember.” Len’s voice is hot and cold, like icy blue flame. “I came home to my husband looking for support after a rough day. Instead, I found a whiny brat making it even worse.”

The verbal slap stuns Barry into speechlessness. Len fills the silence with a slamming door.

o o o

Barry will not speak to Len. Not over breakfast, not during the morning staff meeting, not even when they’re consulting on a patient together. Fortunately, it’s not too obvious. The parents have a volley of questions that Barry and Len take in turns. Barry high-tails it out of the room as soon as he can, and Len has no hope of catching up to the Flash. The sobriquet sounds bitter inside his head, and he is bitter that Barry would use his superspeed to escape from him.

“A word of wisdom,” Harrison says, and Len starts because he didn’t hear the former Chief approaching, “if you’ll accept it.” Len nods, so Harrison goes on. “The work of the Chief of Surgery is never done. Except when his spouse demands that it is.”

“And if work isn’t the problem?” Len says without thinking. He considers Harrison a friend, but not a friend the way Mick is a friend, and he wouldn’t have even said that to Mick. Lisa, maybe, after she needled him for awhile. “Sorry. Forget I said that.”

Harrison guides his wheelchair alongside Len as he tries to flee the scene of his loose tongue. Len does a double take, then resigns himself to this conversation. Truthfully, Harrison’s guidance since Len took over as Chief has been invaluable. He’s just not sure he wants the other man weighing in on his marriage.

“I can’t help you there.” Len breathes a sigh of relief. “But please don’t pretend being Chief isn’t part of the problem, Leonard. Not to me. I hand-picked you for this job, and when the time came, I stepped aside for you. And Barry.”

“All right,” Len says. “This job blows.”

He holds the elevator door open for Harrison, then hits the button for the second floor where he plans to hide out in his office until his next surgery or meeting or whatever pops up on the calendar that his secretary controls and fills up with color-coded blocks like it’s a damned Christmas tree.

Harrison laughs softly. “Yes, the job ... blows at times.”

“When do I stop regretting that I gave up peds chief for this shitshow?”

“When you figure out how to make it your own.” Harrison swivels his wheelchair around so he can face Len and command his attention. “When I named you peds chief, you came into my office the next day with your signed contract and a list a mile long of things you were going to change in the peds department. That attitude doesn’t have to change because you’re Chief of Surgery.”

Len considers this. When Harrison offered him peds chief, he’d had a vision. He wanted to change everything he hated about the way his predecessor had run the department, and he had. He’d been ready to become Chief of Surgery because he’d shaped peds into exactly what he wanted it to be. Ray might undo some of those changes, like not allowing unsupervised interns on the floor, but others will stick forever - giving parents access to the on call room so they can sleep in a real bed and make decisions about their children’s care on a full night’s sleep, a reallocated budget for a larger nursing staff, performing the highest number of _pro bono_ cases in the entire hospital.

He’d never given Harrison a choice about these changes. He had presented them as essential, and he’d pushed them through regardless of the enemies it had made him. (Slashing research budgets for more nurses had almost caused a revolt and definitely at least one resignation.)

“They’re used to me,” Harrison says. “Make them get used to you.”

Len nods slowly. He thinks he knows how to find his footing. Firing all of the interns feels like a good starting point. It’s something Harrison would have never done. He can’t fire the Board, but maybe he can bring them to heel.

o o o

Len’s office doors bursts open. Len throws down his pen, face a mask of rage when he looks up. He is going to start locking that door every damn second he’s in here because he’s in the middle of planning his hostile takeover of the Board’s will, and his office door slamming against the wall and an intruder is cramping his ability to think.

His anger subsides when he sees the blind panic on Cisco’s face. Len leaps up from his chair, his heart a riot because he’s a peds surgeon and he knows the hundred things that could have happened to Leo or Lisa.

“I ... I think I ...,” Cisco rambles.

“Cisco,” Len says sternly. “Is Leo okay? Lisa?”

The question grounds Cisco a little. He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, they’re fine. Leo is in daycare. Lisa is the ortho consult today, but from what I’ve heard, she’s actually camped out in daycare and super irritated that she keeps getting called for consults.”

“Then why is she back at work?”

Lisa could have taken another three weeks of maternity leave, but she had insisted she had to get back to work. She doesn’t trust anyone else to teach Jax orthopedic surgery, but she clearly doesn’t trust anyone - not even trained child care workers in a hospital - to take care of her son. The competing desires are driving her, and everyone else, a little crazy.

“Yeah, I don’t know. But what am I supposed to do about it? I’m only her husband.”

Cisco says that often. It implies a lot about him. It also conceals something Len knows to be true. More than once, Lisa has conceded to Cisco’s will because he is her husband and loves her and doesn’t ask to get his way often. She probably would have taken her maternity leave if Cisco had asked her to, but that’s not something he would have ever done. Just like he’s not in the daycare center trying to convince her to leave Leo. She’ll get there on her own, and he’ll wait for that day. Cisco’s forbearance is a thing of wonder.

Neither Len nor Barry have very much of that quality. No wonder they butt heads so much while almost everything has been smooth sailing for Lisa and Cisco despite their equal baggage.

“Okay, so why did you storm into my office looking like someone had died?”

“Because someone did.”

Len braces himself for a surgical horror story, but what Cisco has to say is much worse.

“I saw Nora Allen die. I vibed it.”

Vibe must be what he’s calling his visions. It’s probably the only term he could use that didn’t make him sound delusional.

“I thought you vibed the future.”

“Yeah ... I think this was the future. Barry was there. Like, adult Barry and kid Barry were both there.”

Cisco’s explanation is a little convoluted and relies on a shaky understanding of physics that should definitely be confirmed before anyone buys into it, but Len understands the blind panic now. He’s starting to feel it himself. Barry can _time travel_ .

“These vibes are starting to seriously freak me out,” Cisco admits. No wonder, if this is the kind of calamitous thing he’s always seeing. “I guess I ... have to tell Barry?”

Len understands the reluctance, but it’s been time to come clean to Barry for awhile now.

“I’ll do it,” Len says. “I have some things to tell him about the Man in Yellow too. I’ll add this to the list.”

Cisco narrows his eyes. “But,” he draws out the word, “Barry isn’t talking to you right now.” Len narrows his eyes in return, and it’s not a friendly, skeptical gesture. Cisco backs away toward the door. “So ... I’ll just ... We’re having chicken parm for dinner if you want to join us. And then you can watch Leo because I think I’m running on two hours of sleep and ten bags of M&Ms.”

Len eyes his brother-in-law coldly, just to make sure the point is completely understood. “I’m done at seven tonight.”

“We’ll have dinner on the table at seven-thirty.” Then Cisco does the wise thing and leaves. Quickly.

o o o

According to the four texts from his secretary, Len is late for his next appointment. He decides to ignore him a little while longer and scrub out at a leisurely pace. He’s started scheduling a surgery for himself every morning. It means he has to be at the hospital at 5am every day, but since Barry is still not talking to him and still denying him sex after a week, there’s no point staying in bed until 7am anyway.

His phone pings again. He cuts his eyes sideways to read the text. _Dr. Snart, Your 7am has been waiting for 11 minutes. Sincerely, Mr. Tockman._

Len appreciates William’s precision and professionalism. But he’s another text message away from handing the man his walking papers. Len decides his own schedule and priorities, not his secretary. Len would have guessed William is conspiring with the Board to undermine every ounce of his authority if he hadn’t also been Harrison’s secretary.

Len’s 7am appointment turns out to be Henry. He barely stiffens when Henry hugs him loosely.

“Henry, you don’t have to make appointments with me.”

“This is about professional matters. I wanted to tell you about the Keystone conference. We don’t usually have time for things like that in attending meetings.”

They sit on the couches in Len’s office instead of the uncomfortable chairs around the desk Len usually makes his doctors sit in and sip coffee while Henry tells him about speaking at Keystone Memorial and a couple of the follow-up conversations.

“Sounds like it went well,” Len comments. “And like Christina McGee is trying to poach you to run their clinic once it’s open.”

Henry laughs and scratches the back of his neck exactly the way Barry does when he’s nervous or embarrassed.

“No, I don’t think that was her intention,” Henry says. “Even if it was, I’m not going anywhere. Working here is so much more than I ever dared to hope for.” Henry stops and starts his next sentence several times before he gets it out. “I know I said this meeting was professional, but can I ask you something personal?”

Len’s knee-jerk reaction is to say no, but Henry is his father-in-law, so he checks it and nods.

“How do you think Barry would react if I asked a woman out to dinner?”

Len’s eyebrows arch slightly, although a second later he’s not sure why he’s surprised. Nora died over twenty years ago, and Henry had a lot of free time on his hands to work through his grief, even if he couldn’t move on given his situation. Now he can move on. Maybe he has another great love out there, but even if he doesn’t, he has plenty of years ahead of him to have fun and a lot of years behind him where that was unfairly denied.

“A date,” Len says, his lips curling up despite himself. “With whom?”

Henry blows out a breath. “Tina.”

“So she _is_ trying to poach you ... in a way.”

Henry’s chuckle is the mirror of Barry’s self-conscious laugh. “I’m a little rusty, but I got the impression that she wouldn’t be opposed to talking socially.”

Everyone knows Christina McGee professionally. She’s an institution in cardiothoracic medicine, and the McGee Method changed the way geriatric cardiomyopathy is treated. Len also knows her personally. Tina and Clarissa are good friends.

“I think Barry will react abominably. But I don’t think that should stop you from enjoying dinner with an interesting woman.”

o o o

Barry reacts abominably when Henry tells him about his date with Christina. Len has to hear the whole thing unfold from the kitchen where he’s hiding out again, this time with Leo because Cisco and Lisa are both on call and the daycare is closed this late. It makes him angry that his nephew’s presence probably isn’t helping Barry’s mood. Partly, he’s angry at Barry for this jealous streak. But he’s also angry at himself for not assuring Barry there’s nothing to be jealous of. That requires the truth, though, and Len still doesn’t know how to share that without destroying Barry’s whole world.

Henry doesn’t slam the door when he leaves, but he doesn’t exactly close it gently either. Len steels himself for whatever Barry is going to throw at him before he enters the living room. Barry is on the couch, his head in his hands.

“I completely fucked that up,” Barry says, looking up. His eyes find the bundle of yellow blankets that is Leo and instantly looks guilty. “I mean, uh, I messed that up.”

It’s the first thing Barry has said to Len in over a week. He should be disapproving, angry, anything but what he is right now because Barry’s words melt his heart.

“It’s okay, Barry. He won’t pick up our bad language for a couple years.”

“But we should practice for when he does start talking. And anyway, that’s an angry word. He should only hear loving words from us.”

Barry hasn't shown much interest in Leo as far as he’s seen, but he wonders if maybe that’s only because Len always wants to hold Leo - and play with him, feed him, tuck him in, comfort him when he cries - and doesn’t give anyone else, even Lisa and Cisco, a chance to get to Leo first.

“Do you want to hold him?”

Barry’s eyes light up and Len can’t breathe. For all that he’s stubborn and selfish and reckless, mostly Barry is loving and compassionate and kind and so, so good. The second Barry has Leo cradled in his arms, his whole face changes. Just like Len’s does. He’s cooing at Leo, tickling his tummy, rocking him when he fusses.

The emotion Len feels is overwhelming. There’s not a word for it that he knows of. This is one of those moments where everything feels right, but the rightness is an illusion. Len and Barry and a baby, that’s what supposed to happen right now. But it can’t because the spectre of the Man in Yellow has tied Len’s tongue. All they are right now is Len and Barry and a secret.

It hurts in a way that nothing else has ever hurt before.

“I forget what we’re fighting about,” Barry says, after Leo has fallen asleep in his arms. He doesn’t lay the baby in his bassinet, just continues to hold him and coo when he kicks in his sleep. “It stopped being about whatever we actually said a while ago.”

“Then what’s it about now?”

Barry doesn’t say anything for a long time. He’s steeling himself for something, and with a growing sense of dread, Len begins to suspect what it is.

“Do you still want us to have a family?”

The question might as well be a bomb lobbed at Len. All he can see is its explosive potential.

“Of course I do.”

He can see Barry’s shoulders relax from across the room.

“Can we talk about that? When we’re going to an adoption agency? Or finding a surrogate, if that’s the way you want to go.”

Len swallows thickly. No, they can’t talk about when they’re going to start a family because who knows what the Man in Yellow wants with Barry or who he might use to get to Barry. And because if this past month has proved anything, it’s that Barry still has some growing up to do.

“We can talk about it after you finish your fellowship.”

“That’s another year.”

“Believe me, I know that,” Len says. He sounds bitter. He doesn’t mean to, but he does. “I’m closer to fifty than forty now. I’m well aware of the years ticking by. But what I want is not as important as what our children will need. And that is at least one parent who is not on call twenty four-seven.”

Barry’s expression is rueful. “Yeah, I mean, I can’t argue with that. I hate it, but I can’t argue with it. It is kind of ironic after the fight I just had with my dad.”

Len debates whether to wade into this or not. The pin has been pulled. The grenade is clutched in his fist.

“He is giving you what you need, Barry,” Len says. “He’s trying to tell you that your life can’t pick up where you left it twenty years ago. That’s not how time works. Even for you.”

There’s no explosion. No outburst, no yelling, no slamming doors. But there is devastation in Barry’s eyes and the echoes of it pierce Len with shrapnel anyway. Not for the last time, either.

o o o

Len isn’t sure if things are really okay between him and Barry until the next morning when he wakes up with Barry’s thighs bracketing his hips and a kiss as soon as his eyes open. Barry never wants sex when he’s hurt. Angry, maybe, but not when he’s hurt. So they must be fine and that makes it okay for Len to flip Barry over and thrust against him until they’re a sweaty, sticky mess.

Barry makes a satisfied sound in the back of his throat. “You know I like it fast.”

Len’s chest is heaving and arms are shaking or he’d laugh at the horrible line. “God, I missed you,” he murmurs, burying his nose in the junction of Barry’s jaw. “Never be that big of a brat again.”

“Oh!” Barry’s voice is a laugh. “That’s no way to start round two.”

Len slides down the bed, helps Barry shimmy out of his pajama pants and underwear. The taste of come from their first orgasm is sharp and perfect on his tongue, and he sucks until Barry is writhing and saying his name like it’s a prayer and Len is hard again. A shudder passes through Barry that Len can read because they’ve been together long enough, and he’s not surprised that Barry is rifling through the bedside table for the lube. Len’s fingers work him open too fast, not quite enough, but Barry is climbing onto him, sitting on his lap, guiding him in, gasping and moaning in equal measure, and all Len can do is cling to Barry, hold him close, kiss his warm skin, because this is an apology and a statement and a promise from Barry to him and he’s learned to be gracious enough to accept it.

“I love you,” Barry whispers. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

Len quiets him with a kiss and the touch of fingertips tracing the bumps of his spine. Barry buries his face in Len’s neck, keeps his rhythm slow, and Len feels like the world has stopped for them to share this moment. They finish together long after the sun rises and their phones have started buzzing with pages, but they ignore it all to stay wrapped up in each other.

“I don’t like fighting,” Barry says. He’s lying on his back, tangled in the sheets. The pillows have vanished from the bed so he’s propped up on his arm. “But I kind of love making up. How cliche is that?”

“Terribly,” Len says. He can’t stop touching Barry. His fingers walk trails along the veins in his arms, down his sternum, over his hips. “I love you anyway.”

Barry is about to say something, but the sound of frantic knocking interrupts him. Len glances at the clock, fueling up on righteous anger to hurl at whoever is disturbing them, but it’s not 6am like he thought. It’s 10am. They’ve been lying in bed for hours.

“Oh my God,” Barry laughs, but then his smile drops. “I missed rounds. And a surgery! And a meeting with Ray. Oh my God.”

“You’re sick,” Len says calmly. “We’re both sick. Food poisoning from takeout last night.”

Len has missed his own rounds and an attendings meeting and probably three consults because he put himself on the schedule for today. He’s sticking with his story of food poisoning. He pulls on his pajama pants, leaving his sticky underwear where they fell on the floor, and goes to answer the door.

“Oh, you’re alive,” Sara says. “I’m so glad I got pulled out of bed at 9am on my day off to make sure you’re not dead in your home. I assume Barry is alive too.”

“We’re sick. Food poisoning.”

“Liar.” Sara pushes off the wall and waves at him over her shoulder. “But whatever, I’m going to watch the circus at the hospital.”

“What circus?”

“Apparently, all the other attendings are fighting over who’s Chief in your absence. Care to weigh in?”

Len considers for a minute. He could pick Mick, because sometimes it’s fun to watch the world proverabally burn when he’s not around to be impacted, but it’s actually an important administrative day. He can’t pick Harrison anymore, not if he wants to set a new tone with the Board. And he can’t remember which attendings are working today.

Barry peeks around the bedroom door. He’s still naked, and when he sees that Sara isn’t at their door anymore, he saunters toward the bathroom and starts the shower. Len doesn’t want to think about Interim Chiefs. He wants to climb into the shower with Barry, then drag him back to bed and stay there all day.

“Caitlin,” Len calls after Sara. That should cause quite a stir among the attendings, but also make sure all the paperwork is off his desk when he goes in tomorrow.

Then he joins Barry in the shower.

o o o

The next time the Board calls an “emergency” micromanaging session, Len is prepared. He leaves his office as if he’s heading to the board room so William doesn’t send him a text every forty-five seconds reminding him of where he’s supposed to be. Then, he goes to the daycare center and takes Leo for a walk.

“You know they’re ready to put out a code pink for a missing kid,” Sara says.

“Can’t do that without my approval.”

“Security is on their way to find you,” Mick says. “You know you can’t just take a kid from daycare, right?”

Sara and Mick know where they can find Len these days, but thankfully the rest of the surgical staff and the Board is oblivious to the Chief of Surgery’s penchant for wandering the halls of the maternity ward.

“I’m on his list of guardians,” Len says.

“To pick him up at the end of the day if Lisa and Cisco are still working,” Sara says, but she’s smiling just a little bit because no one can resist a smile for long when Leo is awake and kicking in his wrap carrier. “At least tell me Lisa and Cisco know you’ve borrowed him for your own purposes?”

“I sent residents to tell them both.”

“And one to read a prepared statement to the Board?” Mick asks. He explains how he knows the plan by saying, “I ran into Clarissa last night. She gave me a head’s up you were planning something. I could have helped, you know.”

“We could have helped,” Sara clarifies.

“I appreciate the offers, but I couldn’t send an attending in my place. Then it would look orchestrated. A resident implies I’m so busy being a surgeon I can’t get away from my patients and grabbed the first person I could find to tell them I won’t be there.”

“And what a cute patient he is!” Sara coos at Leo. Leo coos right back at her and tries to grab her hair. She’s not an expert with kids so she doesn’t realize what’s about to happen until Leo tugs as hard as his little arm can manage. “Ow! Fu - Ow. Well, he’s definitely a Snart.”

Mick’s laugh is deep, rough, genuine. Len joins in. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so freely.

When Len is sure the Board will have dispersed, he makes plans to grab a drink with Mick and Sara later in the week and then takes Leo back to daycare. To waste a little more time, just in case, he swings by the clinic. There are always kids in need of doctors and not enough pediatricians to staff the clinic. He’s in the mood to patch up scraped knees and hand out lollipops today.

“Two peds surgeons in one day,” Henry says. “I am a blessed physician. Unless you’re here to talk about staffing models or budget allocations.”

“No, definitely not. Who else is here today?”

Henry’s smile is so bright, Len knows the answer before he hears it. “Barry. He showed up this morning and said he had a couple hours between rounds and his first surgery. I have the feeling you’re to thank for his change of heart.”

“Not really,” Len says. “I haven’t done much worthy of thanks lately.”

Henry’s concern is palpable, almost as swift and deep as when Barry says something that troubles him. Len backs away from the concern, guilt overwhelming any warm feeling it has inspired. There’s a secret between Len and Henry too.

“I’ll stop by another day,” Len says. “There’s something I have to do now.”

He asks the first nurse he sees to page Mark Mardon 911. But Mark never shows up.

o o o

The memo that circulates among surgical services is crystal clear about one thing: all complaints, grievances, requests, and other in-person communications of a non-emergency nature and unrelated to patient care with the Chief of Surgery are to happen from 5-6am on Thursdays only. Carter Hall decides to ignore these instructions on Tuesday afternoon. Dr. Hall no longer has surgical privileges an hour later, and scuttlebutt around the hospital is that he won’t “until such as a time as Dr. Snart is convinced patient care is his first priority.” No one else tests Len’s resolve.

So Len is not surprised when he shows up at the hospital on Thursday morning and finds a queue waiting at his office door. Barry bursts out laughing when he sees the line extending down the hallway.

“Good luck,” he cackles.

“I love you too.”

Len has to admit that these bitch-and-whine sessions are a lot more fun when they happen back-to-back and there’s a restless mob waiting outside worried they won’t make it into the Chief’s office today and will have to wait another week to air their petty grievances. He reclines in his chair, fingers laced in front of him, and listens with a wickedly impassive face.

Caitlin is up first which is no surprise.

“Thank you for seeing me, Chief Snart,” she begins. She’s called him Len for over a year now, but clearly this is a formal presentation. Or it’s meant to be. Her meltdown comes on quickly. “I can’t take this anymore! Do you know how distressing and, frankly, nauseating is it to spend fourteen hours removing goiters and cysts and boils and God knows what else?”

Ah, lump and bump day. As a resident, Len detested outpatient surgery rotations because of lump and bump days - the one day each week when all patients with abnormal growths are told to come wait their turn to see a surgeon. As the newest general surgery attending, Caitlin has probably been assigned more lump and bump days than the rest of the department combined.

“I don’t set the general surgery schedule,” Len says. “Have you talked to Dr. West?”

“Of course I have!” She sounds highly offended at the implication she didn’t adhere strictly to the chain of command. “He said it’s the way things are done here, and I should know that from my residency. But obviously you’re changing things. I’m suggesting that you think about balancing unpopular surgical duties.”

It’s not going to happen. Len is delegating responsibilities to his department chiefs, not micromanaging them. She did a nice job running the surgical service on his “sick” day, but she’s young and has a lot to learn about leadership.

Len blocks out the next three people. He doesn’t even remember what they’re asking for. Idiotic things, like fixing broken equipment, that’s already on his agenda. Ronnie comes in next. Instead of pacing in front of Len like an angry, caged lion, he greets Len normally and asks if he can sit.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Raymond?” Len asks.

“Formality, huh?”

“I can’t play favorites. Not even for my sister’s best friend. Spit it out. There’s a line.”

He gestures out the glass wall of his office to the queue of faces staring Ronnie down to make him hurry up. They’re over halfway through the allotted hour. It doesn’t phase Ronnie, which is why Len likes him so much.

“I have a problem with Martin. I know that’s ... touchy for you, but I think I have a valid point.” Len nods tersely to let him know he can say whatever he wants to say. “There are two seats for senior neuro residents each year. Martin seems to think he’s entitled to both of them, every year. I don’t disagree that he should have a senior resident. He’s the neuro chief. But my practice and research is important too, and I can’t do it with only junior residents.”

Len never had this problem in peds. Since Len hates working with residents in peds, he happily gave all his senior residency seats to Ray and taught them by proxy on joint cases. Martin loves the prestige of having residents trail after him, of them saying he mentored them once they become renowned neurosurgeons in their own right. Naturally, Martin isn’t sharing the wealth.

“Do you have a junior resident now?”

“Jesse Wells. And I want her to be my senior resident next year. She’s good, Len. I’m not exaggerating when I say that she could be as good as Harrison.”

Then she doesn’t need Martin teaching her. She needs someone more like Harrison, more willing to hear her ideas and let her develop her own techniques from the beginning of her career. She needs Ronnie.

“Okay. If she wants to specialize in neuro next year, she’s your resident. But don’t tell Martin. I know how to handle him.”

Hartley comes in next and sets himself down on the sofa with all his usual aloof, lofty grace. He flashes Len a grin that might mean he’s about to drop a bomb or that he knows about one set to detonate.

“What do you need, Hartley?”

“Hmm? Do I need a reason to talk with a friend?”

An involuntary smile turns up the corner of Len’s mouth. “And you say Axel is the creature of chaos.”

Hartley laughs. “What can I say? We’re well-matched.” He cranes his neck to peer at the line that’s somehow grown over the last forty minutes. “Do you think we could make this last for five minutes?”

“Let’s aim higher.”

“Seven?”

“They’ll eat you alive.”

Hartley scoffs. “I deal with Mick on a daily basis. I can handle lesser colleagues.”

“You’re on a first name basis. You must have impressed him.” Hartley shrugs, trying to play it off as nothing. “The last of his residents, or fellows, to be graced with that honor was me.”

Hartley tries to shrug it off again, like even that can’t faze him, but he knows he’s failed. “Well, hopefully you remember that when my fellowship is over.”

Len doesn’t roll his eyes, but also doesn’t pretend to buy into the deflection. He checks his watch. It’s been four minutes.

“Good work getting Barry to talk to you again,” Hartley says. Len glares at him. “I think I speak for everyone when I say, ‘thank you.’ God, he’s been insufferable.”

“Please tell everyone from me to mind their own goddamned business.”

Hartley’s smile is wicked. He’s going to use those exact words to cause a furor. The little shit. Len wishes he didn’t like him so much.

There’s only fifteen minutes left when Eddie and Nyssa enter Len’s office together. For a second, it feels like Christmas has come early, but it’s not the fireworks show he’s been hoping for since Harrison hired Nyssa.

“The chief of cardiothoracic surgery at this hospital is a bumbling fool who does not deserve the title.”

Eddie draws in a sharp breath. “I thought we agreed to say he’s ‘traditional’.”

“That hardly gets our point across,” Nyssa says to Eddie. She pivots to face Len. “Earlier this week, Eddie and I were performing a laparoscopic biopsy of the lung tissue of a sixty-seven-year-old man with a history of pulmonary edema. That buffoon of a chief entered _our_ operating theater and berated us for not opening the patient’s chest.”

“What Nyssa means to say,” Eddie interjects, “is that -”

“I’ve said exactly what I meant to say, thank you.”

Len has a lot of questions, namely who the hell the cardio chief is because he thought it was Eddie. Eddie is the only cardio surgeon on the distribution list of department chiefs and writes the monthly surgical summary report for cardio. But the question he decides to ask is,

“Why did it take two attendings to do a laparoscopic biopsy?”

“Oh, it didn’t,” Eddie says brightly as always. “We like to scrub in on surgeries together for company.”

Len is still a little confused by that turn of events when Axel Walker slips into his office with four minutes to spare before the hour is up. That is also unexpected because Axel is a psych resident, not a surgical resident.

“You’d better hope no one else in line realizes you’re not a surgeon or you’ll be mobbed when you leave this office.”

“I’ve been doing research on misdirection. I think I can survive them. Anyway, this is important enough to chance it.”

“What could a psych resident have to talk about with the Chief of Surgery?”

“Team Flash.”

Len tenses. He’s going to murder Hartley for blabbing to his boyfriend. Or worse, tell Mick to torture him with scut for awhile. There’s nothing more demoralizing for a fellow than doing scut alongside an orderly.

“So I see you’ve guessed how I know about Team Flash. Before you do whatever you’re planning to Hart, you should hear me out. It’s a very good thing I do know about Team Flash or I wouldn’t have ever come to you with this.”

“Spit it out,” Len snarls.

“There’s a patient in psych. He calls himself Rip Hunter. And I think you’ll want to hear what he has to say.”

o o o

This time when Len sends a text, Mark shows up. He doesn’t look the worse for wear, so maybe he didn’t show last time because he was caught up in surgery. Or with Eobard. Because Len knows now that’s the identity of the Man in Yellow. Maybe. If he can trust a psych patient. He’s honestly not sure that he can. Rip Hunter said a lot of things, none of which sound very plausible.

Other Earths. Time travel. Holes in the space-timestream. Eobard.

But he also showed Len proof.

A timeship, damaged but under repair. A different Mick and Sara. Gideon.

He doesn’t trust this other Mick. He’s too hard, too cold. He doesn’t trust the other Sara either. She’s too solemn, too reserved. He doesn’t trust the way they look at him, like he’s too _something_ they don’t recognize either.

“It’s hard to get away today,” Mark says, as he enters Len’s office. For a terrifying moment, Len wonders if that means he’s been held prisoner at STAR Labs too. “Have you seen the surgical board?”

“Right,” Len says, almost to himself.

Mark cocks an eyebrow. “Since when do you get distracted?”

“Everyone gets distracted.”

Or maybe not everyone. Rip Hunter hadn’t seemed impressed with Len. The look on his face read as expectant, like Len is somehow less than ... himself. Maybe the other Len, their Len, the one who died, wouldn’t have gotten distracted.

“Well, today isn’t the day for it,” Mark says, peering down into the lobby through the glass walls. “You have a visitor.”

There’s a sound like a vacuum seal opening, and then Shawna Baez is standing in front of Len. A smile breaks over her lips, and she rushes at him, throws her arms around his neck, and living with Barry and being around Henry have conditioned his arms to respond in kind.

“Look at you!” Shawna cries, stepping back. “Dreamy as ever. Mark tells me congratulations are in order. I cannot believe someone finally got you to settle down. And a skinny resident, no less!”

“Barry isn’t skinny,” Len says. “He’s slender. And a fellow.”

He doesn’t know what else to say to Shawna. The last time he saw her, she was leaving the hospital with her career in ruins because of him. An apology isn’t enough, and even if it was, it sticks to his tongue like syrup.

“Come on,” Shawna says. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“What’s this history between you?” Mark asks.

“We saved a kid’s life by forging parental consent,” Shawna explains, unabashed. “I took the blame, and the Chief took my privileges here. He fired me on the spot.”

Len almost protests Mark knowing about that. It’s enough to get him fired, not just as Chief of Surgery, but as a surgeon at CCGH, and to lose his medical license. But what Len knows about Mark is enough to land him in prison.

“And you fired all those interns,” Mark says to Len.

“I didn’t realize they were operating on each other to save lives,” Len replies cooly.

“You fired interns?” Shawna asks. “Then after this is over, you’ll have room in the residency program for me, right?”

She looks so excited, so full of possibility. And this, asking her to be his spy, it might get her killed. He feels the weight of guilt heavy on his shoulders. Guilt because Shawna ended up at STAR Labs. Guilt because she’s risking her life for him. Guilt because he’s still keeping the truth from Barry and Henry.

“Absolutely.”

“But we have a long way to go before that can happen,” Mark says. “It’s great that you could leave STAR Labs for an hour to see Len, but the last time we talked, you didn’t know shit, Shawna.”

Shawna rounds on Mark, eyes narrowed and blood up, but Len interjects before a metahuman fight erupts in his office.

“Eobard. The Man in Yellow, could he be Eobard?”

Mark and Shawna exchange an unsure look. It’s Shawna who answers.

“I don’t know. I’ve seen Eobard and the Man in Yellow standing beside each other.”

Len contemplates that, tries to reconcile what he wants to be true with Shawna’s answer, but the uncertainty on her and Mark’s faces gives him pause.

“You don’t sound too sure for someone who has seen it with your own eyes.”

“You learn really quickly at STAR Labs not to trust your eyes,” Shawna says.

There’s a soft knock at the door, then Barry enters, in the middle of a question about dinner that he aborts when he sees Mark and Shawna.

“Oh. I’m sorry. William said you were alone.”

“William wasn’t at his desk when Mark and Shawna got here.”

Barry looks suspicious. William knows every second of Len’s day, so naturally, this wasn’t scheduled, and Barry hates Mark so everything having to do with him is suspect anyway. Barry decides on a friendly tack. He holds his hand out to Shawna.

“Hi. I’m Dr. Allen. Barry. Len’s husband. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Dr. Baez. Shawna.” Shawna takes Barry’s hand while she eyes him. “I was Len’s last resident before you. We were just talking about me coming back to the residency program soon.”

If he didn’t owe her so much, Len would kick Shawna for that. Tonight will be an interrogation.

“That would be ... great. You’re not an attending already?” Barry asks.

Shawna shrugs. “Life happens, you know? I’m still a doctor, just not a surgeon.”

“Oh, well, we have plenty of room in our residency program since we lost all of our interns. Would you still specialize in peds?”

Shawna’s smile slips for the first time. “No. Definitely not.”

Len doesn’t know what that’s about, and he’s not sure he wants to. Barry wears the same expression, and he looks elsewhere in the room for a reprieve from following that line of thinking, but his eyes land on Mark and narrow.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your meeting,” Barry says. He turns to Len, “I’ll see you at home?”

Len nods, and Barry leaves with a backward glance full of questions Len can’t avoid anymore, even if he’s not ready to answer them.

o o o

Barry is called in for an emergency consult halfway through dinner. A young boy with SKID came into the ER, and they need a peds surgeon immediately to monitor the boy, but also to talk to the parents about the dangers of bringing a child with no immune system into a hospital. If Len had been called for the consult, there would have been strong language and possibly a call to CPS. Barry will handle it better, though. His firm empathy works wonders on parents who don’t quite grasp the severity of their child’s situation.

Len packs away the leftovers into Tupperware and does the dishes. He thinks about a shower and calling it a night early since Barry will be at the hospital overnight monitoring the SKID patient. He turns on the hot water tap, lets the water run for half a minute, then turns it off. The feeling settled into the pit of his stomach isn’t relief that he’s dodged the conversation for one more day. It’s not even guilt that he’s dodged it so many times. It’s uncertainty. He doesn’t know which move comes next.

Once, he could have made the call himself. Chosen left or right and been content, whatever happens, that he’d made the best possible choice. He doesn’t have that ability anymore, to choose and watch the pieces fall into place exactly as he’s planned. That requires too much detachment, too much self-preservation. Barry and everyone he’s brought into Len’s life has chipped away at that icy resolve.

He can’t recall the last time anyone called him Captain Cold with any seriousness.

A choice must be made, but he can’t make choices alone anymore.

He’s dressed and at the hospital in a half hour. The peds nurses on night shift greet him warmly and offer him a cookie that a patient’s parents brought in for them. He declines politely and asks instead where they’ve set up the SKID patient. They direct him to the unused second floor of the clinic annex. There are plans to turn the second floor into a dermatology clinic, but they haven’t been approved by the Board yet so the rooms sit empty. It’s a smart move on Barry’s part to completely isolate the boy with SKID. Hopefully the kid doesn’t develop any infections and they can send him home soon because while isolation is medically necessary, it’s going to be hell for a ten-year-old.

“How is he?”

Barry’s head snaps up. He’s sitting at the bare reception desk with his tablet open to the patient’s chart. For reasons beyond understanding, Jax is half-asleep in a desk chair.

“He’s keeping me company,” Barry explains.

Len and Mick never scrubbed in on each other’s surgeries or pulled triple shifts to keep each other company, but maybe everyone else in their resident classes did.  

“Grayson is the SKID kid. No infections so far, just a broken arm that Jax set.”

“I’ve never set a fracture in full containment gear,” Jax says. He punctuates that statement with a huge yawn. “It was awesome.”

“Why don’t you grab some sleep?” Len says. “I’ll keep Barry company for awhile.”

Jax doesn’t need to be asked twice. He’s dead on his feet. Len takes his vacant seat. Barry taps the save button on the chart and turns off his tablet, giving his full attention to Len. There’s a beat of silence where Len doesn’t know how to start and Barry gives him space to figure it out, but it’s over too soon.

“You’re not going to tell me what you’ve been hiding, are you?” Barry says. The hurt laces his voice and weighs on his shoulders, and nothing could make Len feel worse for the weeks of secrets than that.

“I am. But it’s going to change ... everything. It’s going to change you. So I don’t want to tell you.”

Fear and wariness look like mist in Barry’s eyes. “Just say it.”

A beat, and then Len complies.

“The Man in Yellow works at STAR Labs. I think it’s Eobard.”

Barry stares. He’s too stunned to say anything or even try to say anything. So Len continues, tells him everything about Clyde Mardon’s disappearance, the blackmail that turned Mark into a spy, Shawna and how she ended up at STAR Labs, and everything Rip Hunter told him about the Flash and alternate Earths and the Vanishing Point. It’s late and this floor is empty so no one disturbs them. Len talks without stopping until everything is laid bare. And then they sit in silence while Barry processes.

“Okay,” Barry says finally.

“Okay?”

Barry nods slowly, but his eyes are unfocused. He’s still tangled up in the web the Man in Yellow has spun around his life.

“I already knew,” Barry says. “Deep down, I knew. I just ... I didn’t want to know.”

“Barry, I’m so -”

Barry holds up a hand. “No, don’t be sorry. You didn’t have a choice. You had to tell me. You shouldn’t have to walk around with something like that alone.”

“I waited as long as I could.” Barry nods. He doesn’t say anything, but he reaches for Len’s hand and links their fingers. “I waited until I knew everything we can know about him. I’m so close to having a plan, but I need your help.”

Barry snaps out of his daze. “A plan to do what?”

“To get him out of our lives forever.”

It takes Barry a minute to sift through everything Len told him, but when he finds the seeds of a plan, he doesn’t share Len’s belief that it could work.

“Look, I know that we see impossible stuff everyday. But we’re not trusting a psych patient just because he has a convenient solution for us. It would be amazing if he could imprison Eobard in a place where time vanishes, but you don’t really think that exists, do you?”

Len blows out a breath. When it’s said out loud, it all sounds insane, which is fitting since Rip Hunter is a psych patient. But all the same, Len does believe him.

“Yes, I do.”

“For real?”

“He showed me the _Waverider._ I met some of our doppelgangers.”

“He showed ... You released a psych patient!?”

“Technically, Axel did.”

“Wait ... so ... Why did he show you this? If Axel could discharge him, then he needs you ... why?”

Len’s smile is chagrined. “Remember when we first started dating and you kept telling me how there’s good in me? Apparently, there’s good in me on a lot of Earths.”

Barry’s laugh is bright in contrast to the conversation. “You’re part of his crew! You’re a universe-saving hero! I knew it. So does that mean there’s another you walking around here? I wonder if I’ve met him. Like, what if he impersonated you to get close to Rip and come up with a plan to rescue him?”

“No, there’s not another Leonard Snart anymore.”

Barry’s expression drops. “Oh.”

“When they lost him, they lost the only one who had ever captured a speedster.”

“I ... don’t like that way that sounds?”

“And they do need to capture Eobard. He has the technology they need to repair their ship and get back to their Earth. He’s the only one who does on our Earth. So, in exchange, they’ll take him to the Time Masters here before they leave.”

Barry’s sigh is deep and leaves him slumped over with his elbows on his knees. “We can seriously capture Eobard and imprison him somewhere a speedster can’t escape from?”

“I think so. Together. And if we trust a psych patient.”

Barry looks so fragile and so hopeful that Len is afraid he’ll shatter before his very eyes. He tries to find a way to cup Barry in his palms and keep him together, but all he can do is hold both of his hands and wait for Barry to find his own resolve.

“We can have justice for everything he’s done? For my mom. And my dad. And ... everything?”

“Yes.”

Barry draws in a breath, blinks, squares his shoulders. “I want to meet Rip Hunter.”

o o o

The backyard is full of balloons and streamers and people with cupcakes taking their turn to wish Henry a happy birthday. Len stands on the patio beside Barry, his attention focused on his husband rather than his father-in-law.

“Are you sure you want to do this today?” Len asks.

Barry’s expression is amused. “It’s too late to back out now.”

As true as that might be, Len is compelled to hover and double check every quarter hour. Not fourteen hours ago, Barry’s whole world changed. He asked to meet the man who can help them bring Eobard to justice and then declined an immediate meeting so they could attend a birthday party. Len thinks it’s within his rights to worry.

“Len,” Barry says around a sigh. “Look, this is sweet, okay? But this is where I want to be right now. Eobard took this away from my family for twenty years. I’m not giving him one more year. Now that I know what he did - is doing - if I give up all of this, even for a day, then I’m letting him win. And I’m not going to do that. Okay?”

Normally, Len doesn’t have a problem standing still. Quiet allows for observation, hypothesis, planning, preparing. But this isn’t quiet. It’s the eye of a storm.

“I want you to be safe and done with him forever,” Len says.

“I will be. But it wouldn’t happen today even if we skipped my dad’s party to meet with Rip.”

Len draws in a purposeful breath and expels it. “Okay.”

He’s rewarded with one of Barry’s sunshine smiles and a kiss. “Lisa said I could hold Leo while she enjoys the calorie-burning benefits of breastfeeding and eats half a dozen cupcakes so I’m going to go find her. Try to have fun.”

Len tries to forget what’s waiting for them beyond this fenced in yard and enjoy a few hours with friends. It’s not easy when Mick and Sara - _his_ Mick and Sara - are here to remind him of the other Mick and Sara. But his friends are laughing as they trash talk and challenge each other to throw a football through a tire swing from greater and greater distances. The other Mick and Sara are probably sparring or cleaning their weapons while they bond over their war wounds.

“Hey, Len,” Joe says. “You want a hamburger or hotdog?”

He’s standing at the grill, having appointed himself to the position. Iris hovers a couple feet behind him looking increasingly worried at the height of the flames leaping off the old charcoal grill. She shakes her head frantically to warn Len away from the food.

“No thanks, Joe,” Len says. “I filled up on potato salad.”

Joe pulls a face. “You came to a cookout and filled up on potato salad?”

“What can I say? I love potato salad,” Len drawls.

Iris cracks a smile, shakes her head at Len from behind her dad’s back. He joins her at her station and watches as the odds of the patio catching fire goes up with each unnecessary addition of lighter fluid.

“He got really good at using the oven,” Iris says, “but the grill has always eluded him. I tried to talk him out of this.”

“He’s a stubborn man.”

“But he comes around eventually. He seems to have warmed up to you, anyway.”

Len shrugs it off, but he knows it’s as much about Joe warming up to him and Len thawing enough to allow anyone to get close.

Sitting here with Iris and warning people away from Joe’s lighter fluid-laced food lulls Len into relaxation. Iris is one of the few surgeons to have a life outside of the hospital, and she’s telling him about the little things like a new restaurant he would like and a movie he definitely wouldn’t. She and Eddie have strict boundaries about work/life balance - nothing beyond “I’m on call” or “I have to go into the hospital” is allowed - and it does wonders for her conversational skills.

“Do you want to scrub in on an artificial valve replacement Wednesday?” he asks.

“You need an attending to assist?”

“I’m trying out this thing I found out about. Extra surgeons scrubbing in for company.”

“Oh! Yeah, that sounds like fun.”

“Don’t tell anyone. The Chief of Surgery shouldn’t condone this. Also ....”

“You have a reputation to maintain?” She rolls her eyes. “My lips are sealed.”

The longer Len spends not worrying about evil speedsters and Time Masters, the more he can appreciate the birthday party, and in particular, the guest list. Everyone who’s here is Henry’s friend. Many of them overlap with Barry’s friends - all of the “adopted kids” Henry gathered during his hospital stay - but also Joe, David Singh from surgical oncology, and Christina McGee. She looks awkward holding Leo, but much more comfortable talking to Barry, and for a second Len’s thoughts drift toward the bucolic sentiment that maybe there is a reason for all the whys and whens in life.

It’s nearing dusk and the food situation has become dire, so Martin selects a group to assist him in the kitchen while turning a deaf ear on Joe’s protests that he’s been slaving away all day and no one is grateful. Barry brings Len an ice cold beer while they wait for a better selection of food. Mick and Henry and Christina are deep in conversation about something that doesn’t seem to be work given how often they erupt in laughter. Cisco and Lisa already said their goodbyes so they can get Leo bathed and settled in for the night. So Len and Barry have a quiet moment together, and despite everything on Len’s mind, it does feel quiet.

Barry shifts around on the picnic table bench so he can wrap his arms around Len’s waist and lay his cheek on Len’s shoulder.

“Anytime I need him, he’s there,” Barry says. His voice is slightly muffled by Len’s shoulder and reverberates through Len’s spine. “So why am I not as happy as everyone else here?”

“You did a good thing inviting Henry’s friends,” Len says. “That was probably hard for you.”

“I’m happy for him that he’s building this life for himself. It just ... It feels like while he’s getting all these great things, I’m losing everything that’s important to me.”

“You’re not losing me.”

“No, I guess I’m not.” Barry’s smile registers against Len’s shoulder.  “I know I’m not really losing him either. I ... I don’t know what I’ve lost, but I know something is missing.”

Len takes pity on him and tells Barry what he can’t see because he’s too close. For twenty years, he’s been the sun, Henry’s only source of light. He’s still the Sun to Henry, and he always will be, but there are other stars in the sky now.

“Only the illusion of something you never should have been.”

o o o

The Metahuman Research Lab is overflowing with people and Rip Hunter looks livid about it.

“This is not what we discussed, Dr. Snart,” he hisses under his breath. “I told you who to invite -”

“Team Flash is Barry’s purview. Not yours. Not mine,” Len says, his voice dark and his eyes cold, as if Rip Hunter is an intern who can’t place a central line. “I told Barry you wanted us to assemble a bigger team, and this is who he picked.”

Len turns towards the new Team Flash and gestures at the dozen plus people staring wide-eyed at Rip Hunter and his _Waverider_ crew. Len tried to prepare Mick, Sara, and Jax for facing their doppelgangers, but it doesn’t seem to have been enough. Even those without doppelgangers in the room look uneasy.

Caitlin, Cisco, and Hartley huddle together behind a lab table and Hartley’s laptop. Hartley had some theory about vibrations and other dimensions they’re subtly testing out. Henry, Eddie, and Ronnie are standing behind them, trying not to look too interested in the computer screen, and so not noticing how interested in them the other Martin Stein is. Iris and Sara actually aren’t interested. They stare down the _Waverider_ crew like they doubt they’re really allies. Axel is perched on a stool in the no man’s land between the two groups, his eyes sharp and observant as he compares doppelgangers. Nyssa seems to be the opposite with a bored set to her mouth and hair covering one eye, but she’s tense, like she can sense and does not appreciate the other Sara’s attention. Harrison is stationed beside Barry, seemingly welcoming the scrutiny, and knowing him, he’s trying to decipher the looks he’s getting to solve the riddle of his identity on a different Earth. Jax keeps shifting himself further into the shadow of a cabinet, but he bumps into Mark and Shawna who have been standing there all along. Lisa stands in line with Len and Barry, arms crossed over her chest and inscrutable expression fixed on her face.

“Team Flash and the Rogues working together,” the other Mick says. “What a world.”

“Why isn’t my doppleganger here?” the other Ray asks, equally conceited and annoying as the Ray Len knows.

“Because Barry didn’t invite him,” Len says bitingly. He did just explain this, after all.

“Yeah, no offense,” Barry says. “He’s great. He’s a great teacher and he’s had my back more than once, but ... he’s my boss. And I really can’t see him involved in anything like this.”

“And my doppleganger?” the other Martin asks. He sounds even more arrogant than Len’s Martin. He seems like the type of guy to be offended if someone breathes too loudly in his vicinity. “I’ve done my research on him. He’s a neurosurgeon. Surely his knowledge and skill could prove beneficial.”

“For the third time,” Len says, glaring at the other Martin.

Barry lays a hand on Len’s shoulder. “It’s fine, Len. Dr. Stein, it’s really nothing personal. I like our Dr. Stein. I respect him. You’re - he’s - I don’t want to put him in danger at his age.” The other Martin looks apoplectic, but Barry has learned a lot about diffusing tension. “After all, he doesn’t have a ... uh, Firestorm matrix thing ... to protect him.”

“‘A Firestorm matrix thing’?” the other Martin repeats, dumbfounded.

“Let’s get this started,” Len says, out of patience for this pointless banter.

“Laurel,” the other Sara says. Of course she would ignore Len. His Sara does too.

“An otolaryngologist in Starling,” Sara answers. She looks suspicious about why the other Sara wants to know, and she probably should be, especially when the reaction is a sigh of relief.

“I know we’re all very interested in sharing information about our Earths, but ...,” Rip says, and he manages to sound kind as he says it.

“The Man in Yellow -” Len begins.

“The Reverse-Flash,” the other Jax says. He looks apologetic for interrupting Len, and he’s the doppleganger of someone Len likes very much, so he lets it slide. “He calls himself the Reverse-Flash. I’m just saying, you know, to drive home the point about how much he hates Barry and why this mission is important.”

That last part is directed at someone on the _Waverider_ crew, and it’s an insight into their dynamics and motivations that Len is glad to have.

“You said you know a way to capture him and bring him to justice,” Barry says.

“That we do, Dr. Allen,” Rip says.

With the help of a portable version of Gideon, Rip tells them the story of the Reverse-Flash from his origin as a future nemesis of the Flash to his plan to travel back in time and kill the Flash as a child, only to end up losing his own powers and orchestrating the creation of the Flash to get them back. But this is a slightly different history - the one that Rip knows from his Earth. The timelines don’t quite match up and a couple unsettling details are different. Namely, he didn’t kill Harrison and Tess here. But it’s enough to piece together what happened on their Earth.

“And that,” Rip says, “takes us to the origin of the Flash, which is quite different on our Earth, and therefore, not relevant to our plan. Martin, would you like to take over from here?”

“As you may know from your physics backgrounds,” the other Martin begins, then stops. “Or maybe not. The opposite of speed is cold. Cisco - that is, our Cisco - built a weapon which can defeat a speedster in case Barry - that is, our Barry - showed some of the ah, homicidal tendencies of other metahumans. That weapon was stolen from STAR Labs. And stolen again by ... the Flash’s nemesis. And, eventually, was stolen one more time from the _Waverider._ ”

Len is pretty sure he understands what the other Martin is not saying. He glances sidelong at Barry, who looks bowled over by this narrative of the Flash and Captain Cold as nemeses.

“The short story,” the other Sara says, “is that we know how to capture the Reverse-Flash, but we don’t have the weapon we need to do it.”

“That is our starting point,” Rip says, jumping in again. “Along with training you, Flash. Gideon has tracked your sprints around the city and analyzed the data gathered in this lab. You are not nearly fast enough to lure the Reverse-Flash into the trap we intend to set for him.”

Barry nods. His resolve is firm when he says, “I’ll get faster. And when I do, can you guarantee the Time Masters will imprison him and keep him from doing this again?”

“Fortunately for you, Dr. Allen, the Time Masters on your Earth are an honorable body who uphold the values of their founding, which I suspect is why you’ve seen so little upheaval in comparison to other Earths. Yes, they will prevent him from ever disrupting the timeline again.”

Barry nods again. Then, he turns to the room full of friends and family who dropped everything, delayed surgeries, volunteered to cover double shifts in exchange for getting the day off to be here because he asked.

“You all know what he did to my parents. You know that he calls himself the Reverse-Flash and what that means. If you do this, you’re risking your lives. I won’t blame anyone who doesn’t want to do that. If you want to walk way, you can and you’ll still be my friends. My family.”

No one moves or speaks.

“Cisco, Lisa,” Barry says, looking between them. “You have a baby.”

The other Mick stands up straighter, but then shrugs like it’s not that big of a surprise after all.

“Not a chance, man,” Cisco says.

“Family,” Lisa says firmly. Barry starts to object. “ _Family._ ”

Barry looks around the room helplessly, like he needs someone to say it’s too much to ask. Henry leaves his station by the wall and claps Barry on the shoulder. Even in the silence of the research lab, Len can’t hear what Henry says to him, but whatever it is, it does the trick. Barry and Henry stare at each other for half a minute, then Barry nods.

“Okay,” he says to Henry, then to everyone else. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”

o o o

Len stands behind his desk peering out at the perfect grid of Central City’s streets under the bright sunshine. For once, there are no e-mails from the Board about transposed numbers in a spreadsheet or queue of surgeons waiting to bicker with each other in his presence or intern cabals. Soon, he’s going down to OR 10 to see how Ray’s emergency ex-lap is going because he might need another set of hands once he sees the damage.

He knows things aren’t as peaceful as they seem. The Reverse-Flash is out there somewhere. Maybe at STAR Labs just a few miles away. Maybe running through the streets of Central City so fast Len can’t see him. Rip Hunter’s attempts to build the weapon to stop him have amounted to Cisco and Hartley yelling about being surgeons, not engineers and asking Gideon a lot of questions about a physics principle called absolute zero because Rip’s other idea of having Cisco “vibe” a portal between Earths and contact another Cisco for help was even less successful. Dealing with their doppelgangers hasn’t proven any easier, especially since the other Mick thinks the best way to motivate Barry to run faster is via flamethrower.

But there is also a baby named Leo in daycare, and Henry running the clinic, and from where he’s standing he can see the blur and yellow lightning trails heading up Van Geld that means Barry is responding to an emergency because the ambulance is stuck in rush hour traffic.

So maybe the Reverse-Flash is out there, but he doesn’t know they’re onto him and he won’t until it’s too late. Soon, Barry will be fast enough to outrun him. Soon, they’ll have a weapon that can stop him in his tracks, literally. And then they’ll be rid of him forever. Their lives will continue. There will be more babies with namesakes and more people joining their chosen family and more promises of white picket fences kept. Len isn’t an optimist, but even he can feel that in his bones. This is not where their story ends. After all the fear and loss and misery he and Barry have endured, their story doesn’t end this way. He won’t allow it.

So while Cisco and Hartley are studying with a futuristic AI and Barry is running, Len and Harrison are planning. Planning routes, counting seconds, debating tactics, running simulations, finding the perfect place for everyone so that when the noose tightens around the Reverse-Flash, there is no escape.

The only unknown is the weight of the cold gun. Len isn’t sure yet how heavy it will be in his hand - because it will be Captain Cold and no one else who fires the shot that ends the Reverse-Flash, that ends the man who has manipulated and nearly destroyed his husband’s life - how hard the recoil will be, if there’s a scent to absolute zero, how he’ll feel when he steps into the shoes of a man who walked a path Len is so, so, so grateful he avoided.

But for now, he turns away from the glass walls of his office and heads down to the surgical wing to check on Ray, and if Ray doesn’t need his help, then Caitlin who is operating on a woman with some regenerative powers that makes sedation tricky, and then to the clinic, because Henry has just called Mick and Len for a consult because there’s a seventeen-year-old kid who seems to be growing iridescent, armored scales on his arms. Len almost smiles as he reads the final lines of the text: _No rush. Patient is calm, thinks it’s “way cool”, and wants to be addressed as Smaug._

It’s just another Tuesday in Central City. And it’s good to be Chief.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story. If you did, your comments and kudos are most appreciated. I don’t have a beta-reader so all mistakes are my own. I will fix them if you point them out to me. If you’d like to discuss this story or anything else, you can find me on tumblr as arainymonday.
> 
> I think it’s time to warn you that there are only two more stories after this one. Could it go on indefinitely? Absolutely. But a happy ending depends on where you stop telling the story, and I think the happiest possible ending for this version of Barry and Len comes then. It’s going to be hard to give up, but rewarding to have an ending too. Plus, I have a new plot bunny begging for my attention ;)


End file.
